


Three Nights

by lecriteuse



Category: Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Alcohol, F/F, In Between Canons actually, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-13
Updated: 2016-03-13
Packaged: 2018-05-26 12:10:30
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 22,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6238204
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lecriteuse/pseuds/lecriteuse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Three nights of Josephine and Leliana.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Caper

**Author's Note:**

  * For [vicewithavice](https://archiveofourown.org/users/vicewithavice/gifts).



> Dear vicewithavice, happy Wintersend, and I hope you enjoy this! Your prompts were all a lot of fun. I chose this one:
> 
> "Josephine and Leliana in their younger years, drinking together, being goofy, carefree, and full of unresolved sexual tension. Each pining over the other, assuming that their crush is unrequited. Smut not necessary, but a nice bonus, if you're into it."
> 
> The goofy/carefree shenanigans are mostly in the first two chapters. And the smut (such as it is) is mostly in the third chapter. I really hope this makes you happy! Thanks for giving me such fun prompts. <3

The first time Josephine met Leliana was not in Orlesian high society. At the time, Josephine knew of Leliana by reputation, of course: a skilled bard, adept at the Grand Game, ambiguously attached to the Chantry, recently come to Val Royeaux after traveling with the woman known as the Hero of Ferelden. Josephine was both captivated and aghast at the stories she heard. Imagine, fighting armies of Darkspawn! Ending the Fifth Blight! In addition to being something of a legend for her deeds, Leliana was also said to be charming and beautiful, and was very in-demand among the higher echelons of Orlesian society. She moved in courtly circles to which Josephine — no longer even a bard, but a mere University student — would not have access.

Rather, the first time Josephine met Leliana, it was in an unsavoury tavern in a rough part of Val Royeaux. Josephine had come out with her friends, who were (as she was) celebrating the end of a term of classes, and the start of a brief break between terms. This celebration, which entailed little more than drinking moderately-expensive wine and exchanging stories and complaints about the past term, had begun in the rooms of one of the students’ residences. As the evening progressed, and the wine began to run low, it had seemed like a good idea to head out of doors. One of the celebrants was certain that she had been told that there was to be a party at the house of one of the local worthies, ambitious and not terribly high-ranking, such that a group of lively young nobles could be reasonably assumed to have a standing invitation. But the house had been dark when they arrived. Clearly, there was no party. So, without any clear plan, they had wandered through the streets of Val Royeaux, determined to find a suitable venue for continued merrymaking.

And that was how they had ended up in a dark, crowded, and noisy tavern. Josephine, perhaps more sober than most of her companions, and certainly more cautious than many of them, felt distinctly ill-at-ease. The crowd seemed to consist mostly of humans and city elves, dressed for practicality and thrift. Josephine and her companions, young and dressed in fashionable clothes, stood out. They attracted more than a few stares that made Josephine extremely uncomfortable. 

After a short time, Josephine made a few efforts to convince her companions to leave with her, but no one seemed at all inclined to do so. One of her friends had, in fact, apparently disappeared into one of the upstairs rooms with at least one woman (possibly up to three; accounts varied) whose services Josephine suspected would not come cheap. Josephine sighed to herself. She really needed to start keeping better company, though she invariably found herself drawn to more roguish characters. They always seemed so exciting! But then they frequently led her into situations like this, Josephine reflected as someone jostled her, sloshing cheap ale onto her.

Josephine thought she would try to slip out and see if she could find a brougham for hire — there would be many patrolling the streets this night, looking for fares from lost and inebriated students. It occurred to her then that she was not entirely certain which of the tavern’s doors led to the relatively major street they had entered through; nor even which of the many doors she could spot actually led outside.

Making her way determinedly through the smoke and din and press of bodies, Josephine became increasingly turned about. She moved through one dark, crowded, low-ceilinged room after another. Where was the door, _any_ door to the street?

Josephine came to a room that was marginally less crowded. To catch her breath, she moved to lean against the rail on the near wall, where only one other tavern patron had settled — a small human woman, hooded, who did not appear intimidating or alarming, and at any rate seemed intently focused on the goblet she was sipping from. Josephine did not look at the woman as she leaned into the rail. She would catch her breath, gather her wits, and then leave.

The hooded woman shifted closer, and Josephine tensed. A light laugh came from the hooded figure. “Chérie, you look as out-of-place as a nug among brontos.”

Josephine felt herself flushing with embarrassment, although she was now also extremely nervous of this person. Whoever she was, her voice was cultured, with its light Orlesian accent and musical timbre. Despite her agitation, Josephine quickly understood that this was not some gutter rat here to get drunk. Her cultivated voice and manner belied her surroundings and her dark, practical-looking clothing. This woman’s voice and words were poised, relaxed, but calculated to be affecting; her body language, as she pressed closer, conveyed not a thoughtless invasion of space, but the same calibrated closeness that would be familiar to any bard worth her salt.

Perhaps this woman was a bard — or, like Josephine, a former bard. That meant she was well-bred, or at least well-educated, and thus more familiar to Josephine than the vast majority of people in the tavern. But still not entirely safe. Possibly less so, for she seemed to have taken an interest in Josephine. This would make a discreet escape significantly less likely.

The woman had turned to Josephine, so that her face, though obscured by her hood, was partially visible. She was, Josephine thought, very pretty. A face to match the voice.

The stranger was smiling lightly, looking up at Josephine from under slightly lowered lashes. She leaned closer, pressing into Josephine. Very faintly, Josephine could smell the sweet wine the woman had been drinking; it was not unpleasant. When she spoke, her voice was very close to Josephine’s ear. “You must be from Antiva, are you not?” Josephine gave a start. Did she know this woman? She felt the puffs of air from the woman’s laughter against her ear. “Your shoes are from a quite good cobbler in Antiva City. No one else styles them with the extended welt and tapered square wingtip. Very nice choice, though your shoes and indeed your entire ensemble mark you as someone too wealthy to really belong here.”

Josephine was becoming more alarmed by the second. Was this woman threatening her?

“And that is to say nothing of your moving through the rooms of this place as though a bear were chasing you. I believe you were trying to leave — yes? I can’t say I blame you. It’s really rather dull. And I was just leaving myself. Perhaps you would care to join me. Shall we fly away, little bird?”

The woman leaned back and removed her hooded mantelet, settling the rough fabric over Josephine’s shoulders. “There, that will hide your fine bolero jacket, and that satin waistcoat.” Josephine’s gaze was drawn to the woman’s vivid red hair, now revealed, and to her blue eyes that were bright even in the murky light of the tavern. “And if you are going to start and stare, it is best that your face be hidden. Pity. It’s a very lovely face.” The woman pulled the hood over Josephine’s head, her fingers just barely — accidentally? — caressing Josephine’s jawline.

The stranger removed a scarf she had around her neck, using it to cover and tie back her extraordinary hair. “That will have to do for me, though I’m unlikely to be recognized where we’re going, not if we keep our wits about us. And I’m afraid there’s not much we can do to cover your good hose, or those fascinating shoes, but most people are unlikely to notice. Now come, I grow tired of this place.” The woman twined her fingers through Josephine’s. With her other hand she lifted the goblet to Josephine’s lips. “Here, you should try this before we go; it’s really very good, and will give you energy if we need to dash.”

Although the wine _was_ very good, Josephine was a little concerned about the potential need to _dash_. She hoped this woman did not plan to lead her into danger. Or to entrap her. She certainly knew enough of the Game to be aware that the things this woman was doing that were so very engaging — the touching, the personal remarks, the sharing of wine — were tactics of manipulation. But this did not, of course, automatically signal ill intent. Besides… Josephine liked the look of this woman, was enjoying her company despite having just met her and not spoken a word to her, and it was not as though she could see a way to extricate herself from this tavern without a guide. It was end-of-term, and she _felt_ like it. She swallowed the wine; it was sweet and rich.

The stranger put the goblet to her own lips and drank the last sip, then smiled at Josephine. Her fingers tightened around Josephine’s. “Come,” she said, then pulled her out the room’s door and through the crowd. 

Josephine followed as best she could, trying not to slow the woman down. They moved through several crowded rooms, then a dark hallway. The woman moved swiftly and with determination; people seemed to get out of her way without her doing anything. They passed into the main barroom. To Josephine’s alarm, the woman seemed to be manoeuvering them _toward_ the bar, which was crowded, rather than toward the doors. But she followed nonetheless. 

Moving as swiftly as possible, they passed directly by the bar, pressing up against the bar itself several times, before breaking free from the pressing throng around it. Josephine was relieved as they made their way to a door — a different door than the one she and her friends had entered through — and out into the cool air of the night.

The woman had not let go of Josephine’s hand, nor had she stopped walking swiftly. Josephine did not recognize the street they were on. She had not been familiar with this part of town, and was depending on being able to find a brougham to take her back to the University district. But the woman clearly had a goal in mind.

“Thank you,” Josephine said, a little breathlessly. “Thank you for your help. I need to find a main road where I can catch a brougham to take me home — ”

The strange woman tugged her abruptly into a dark side street and turned to face her with wide eyes. “You mean to leave me? Have I done something to offend you?” Her voice held such a perfect note of sweet vulnerability that Josephine found herself responding even as she thought, _Merciful Andraste, this woman is good_.

“No, not at all,” she replied. “It is only that… it is very late.”

“But the night is so wonderful!” the woman said. “The mask the city wears at night is so very different from the mask it wears during daylight. Please,” she said, giving Josephine’s fingers a squeeze and looking at her imploringly. “Please, I would love to show some of it to you.”

Josephine had met this woman mere minutes ago, did not even know who she was, and yet… she found herself nodding. “That is… very kind of you. I think I should like that very much.” Her manners and training asserted themselves. Turning the handholding into a kind of handshake, she started, “My name is Jo — ”

“No!” The woman pressed their clasped hands up between their bodies, stepping even closer to Josephine. “No names. Not tonight. Let us… let us just be _ourselves_ this night. No names, no titles, no histories. Just us.”

It occurred to Josephine that, without one’s name, one’s history, how could one possibly even _be_ oneself? She did not have the time to voice this, however, before the woman lifted their joined hands to her lips, pressed a brief, smiling kiss to Josephine’s knuckles, and then was on the move again, pulling Josephine by the hand further down the alleyway.

Josephine followed wordlessly, her head spinning a little, whether from the drink or the strange woman or the sheer thrill of whatever adventure she had thrown herself into. The alleyway was dark, not lit with veilfire lamps like many of the larger streets in Val Royeaux, but the moonlight provided enough illumination that they could see their surroundings, more or less. The woman’s steps were fast and confident. Josephine wondered where they were going — it had seemed that this alleyway had been chosen at random, but perhaps not.

They did not pass any people; it was very late, Josephine thought. The alleyway eventually widened into a thoroughfare with a few other pedestrians. The woman led on, altering her gait and posture, slowing and hunching very slightly down. Josephine imitated this. They attracted no attention from the other people on the street as they strode down it, Josephine’s hand still firmly clasped by her companion.

They walked down this street in silence for some minutes, no sounds except their own footsteps and those of their fellow night-prowlers, and the occasional barking of dogs or calling of nocturnal birds. Josephine risked a few surreptitious glances around. She did not recognize the street; its buildings suggested they were still in the lower part of the city, though the quietness of the street and its occupants reassured her that she was not likely in danger… at the moment.

When they arrived at a corner, the woman led them down another street that was (to Josephine’s eye) more or less identical to the previous one; then, a moment later, down a much smaller street, little more than an alley. They walked through the alleyways for some small amount of time; the sides of the buildings they passed were increasingly made of brick, then of stone, suggesting they were passing into another part of the city altogether. Josephine was beginning to feel the edge of nervousness — what were they doing, skulking down the backstreets like tramps? — when they came to an apparent dead end. The woman turned to Josephine with a mischievous smile.

“I am very glad you are wearing sensible shoes,” she remarked. “They will be sturdy, and they do not have ostentatious heels or elaborate decorations. That will be all for the best when we climb this building.”

Josephine gawked. “Climb… the building?”

“Yes!” The woman sounded positively delighted. “It is the best way to get onto the rooftops.”

“The rooftops!” Josephine exclaimed.

The woman shushed her, placing a finger on Josephine’s lips. “Not so loud, little bird,” she said, smiling. “The object is to get to our destination without being apprehended. Now, the climbing is quite easy. Look up — you see this ledge? There are a series of them, staggered, going up the side of the building. Then, look where I am pointing, do you see that protruding arch? It will be the last step to getting onto the rooftop. I shall go first, and help you up.”

Josephine looked dubiously at the smaller woman, disbelieving that she would be physically able to haul her up if required. And, unlike the stranger in her breeches and boots, Josephine was hardly dressed for clambering up walls. But… she had scrambled up and down the seaside cliffs near Antiva City that were easily as high as this building, and often in fine clothing — brocade was a surprisingly robust fabric, and Antivan fashion valued practicality alongside elegance. And, after all, she was on an adventure! A failure of courage simply would not do. Smiling, she nodded to the stranger, who grinned back before releasing Josephine’s hand and, turning to the first ledge, pushed herself nimbly up onto it. She turned back to Josephine, crouching down and offering her hand. 

Josephine hitched up her knee-length skirts, trusting her modesty to the pantaloons and hose she wore underneath. Ignoring the woman’s outstretched hand, she pulled herself up onto the ledge next to the woman. The stranger was wide-eyed for one scant second, before she gave a low laugh and leaned into Josephine for a moment. Then she was off again, climbing onto the next ledge.

In this way, they climbed to the top of what had to be a four-storey building. Josephine felt a little nervous only at the end, which required that she climb up to the roof using only a decorative arch for support rather than the more solid-seeming ledges they had been on. But she screwed up her courage and followed the stranger without complaint. She was a little breathless by then, and more than a little exhilarated, glancing at the woman next to her with a smile on her face.

Josephine looked around. They were on a wide, level, stone-tiled rooftop. Other buildings of similar height were to either side. The woman once more took Josephine’s hand, pulling her toward one side of the rooftop. They were overlooking a well-lit boulevard, lined with buildings of white stone. A few carriages moved down the streets.

“See the Game-players, going about their business, heading home after evenings full of scandal, or frivolities, or negotiations,” the woman murmured. “Of what import is any of it? Little banns, ruling over their little hills, scuffling and scrambling and playing each other for… what? A little more money, a little more power. It all means nothing.”

Josephine glanced at the woman with a kind of shock. Where had _that_ speech come from? 

Looking up, the woman’s demeanour abruptly shifted, and met Josephine’s eyes with a smile. “Come,” she said, tugging Josephine’s hand. “I want to show you something.”

The walked on soft feet over the tiles of the rooftop, to where two buildings joined. They climbed over the lip that divided the rooftops, then the woman took Josephine’s hand once more, leading her on. They passed over a number of buildings in this way, always with at least a partial view of the street and the buildings on the other side. Josephine, being led, was able to gaze intermittently at the view. She had never seen a street from a rooftop; she felt invisible and powerful, seeing without being seen.

Eventually, they passed into a roof where the woman led Josephine to a corner that featured what looked (from behind) like an elaborate statue. She led Josephine to the statue, then helped her to edge around it; they went slowly, looking at where they put their feet, for they were very near the edge. Clinging to the statue’s outstretched arms, they looked out over the street. Josephine gasped. Across the square below was a modestly-sized manse, fully detached. What had made Josephine gasp was that the entire front wall of the house seemed covered in windows, full of coloured glass, and faceted crystal panels that sparkled. The building was, even at this late hour, lit from within. It was spectacularly beautiful.

Leaning over, the woman spoke softly into Josephine’s ear. “That is the house of the family Champlain. Middling nobility, and have been for as long as anyone cares to recall. Whether their fortunes rise or fall depends on who is its head at any time.” The stranger’s lips tickled Josephine’s ear; she shivered, despite the mild air. “As you can see, the current Comtesse de Champlain has absolutely vulgar taste. She had the entire façade renovated, the stately stone replaced with ostentatious windows. I’ve no idea how she manages to keep the place reasonably warm in winter, and in the summer it must be unbearable in the evening, facing the west as it does. Silly woman. But still — the pride which requires that she show off her investment all day and night certainly benefits us, does it not?”

Josephine drew a shaky breath. “It is beautiful,” she said softly. “Even if it might also be vulgar, in a way.”

The woman chuckled, puffs of air against Josephine’s ear. “It _is_ beautiful, at night, from this particular vantage point,” she admitted, then fell silent while Josephine gazed at the shimmering lights of the building. Although the stranger might not think so, Josephine thought that the architecture of the house was not terrible; the glass columns and curves were pleasingly laid out, with a spectacular rose window crowning them all, and warm light spilling out through them, into the night.

The woman did not move, but stayed very still, her face very close to Josephine as they clung to the statue. Josephine could feel the woman’s breath on her ear, faintly, but not hear it. Josephine felt frozen, like a small bird being stalked by a cat, only… it was exciting, thrilling, not terrifying at all. Unmoving, gazing at the lights, feeling the warmth of the woman leaning into her, Josephine stood on the edge of the roof for long minutes.

Finally, that warmth was slowly withdrawn after a small, barely-perceptible sigh again Josephine’s ear. By unspoken accord, they moved cautiously back to the roof, where the woman silently took Josephine’s hand once more, and Josephine once more followed without protest. 

They walked over many more roofs that night. The woman occasionally stopped to point out a view or a building, though none were quite as remarkable as the glittering Champlain manse.

One stop gave them a view of the entirety of the Grand Cathedral, its white stone gleaming with a bluish cast in the moonlight. It was a remarkable building, Josephine knew. She had only been to it a few times during her years in Val Royeaux, not being very devout, and at any rate both her finishing school and the University had their own local chantries. From where they stood, on a high rooftop many blocks away, it looked at once solid and ephemeral in the moonlight.

She turned to her companion. The woman was gazing at the Cathedral; her expression was grave, her posture utterly still. She reminded Josephine of the statues of Andraste around the Cathedral, austere and contemplative. 

Without turning to Josephine, the woman asked, “Do you believe in the Maker?”

Josephine was a little taken aback at the question. The woman had seemed, until now, uninterested in conversation beyond the superficial. And it was, Josephine thought, a rather personal and impertinent question to ask of a person one barely knew. “I… I suppose I do,” she said uncertainly, unsure of what part of the Game the woman was drawing her into. “I’m afraid I’m not a very good Andrastian, though. I hardly ever perform my devotions.”

The woman nodded. “Good. Good. Do not allow yourself to be seduced by faith,” the woman said, a little heat entering her voice. “Faith will only break your heart.”

Josephine stared at the woman. What was she playing at? Her face flickered with emotions that passed over it so rapidly Josephine could not discern them. The woman did not seem to be dissembling or playing at all; she seemed genuinely distressed, her hand trembling almost imperceptibly in Josephine’s.

Josephine saw the woman blink her eyes once, and it was gone, whatever _it_ had been. Josephine was baffled, and had no idea what had just passed, what part of the Game this was. The woman turned to Josephine and smiled wordlessly, tugging on her hand. Off they went, once more over the rooftops of Val Royeaux. 

Eventually, the woman led them to a low rooftop adjacent to a walled estate. “We must be silent now,” she woman said, pulling Josephine close. “There are guards. But I know their schedule. The last shift of the night will pass by shortly, then we will move on. Follow me, stop where I stop, and stay close.” Josephine did not think this would be difficult, given how tightly the woman held her hand, how close she pulled them together, but she nodded anyway.

They made their way to the edge of the roof they were on. The woman urged Josephine to crouch down low, and they both edged up to the end of the roof. Below, a walled garden spread out, trees with manicured lawn in between. One section of the garden wall abutted directly against the building they were presently on top of. Josephine saw the silver glint of a fountain further out. She and her companion crouched low, barely breathing, watching.

Then voices were heard, one male one female. They were approaching. Josephine tensed, but the woman gave her hand a reassuring squeeze.

“…the little bugger had an Angel of Death hidden up his sleeve!” said the female voice.

“Andraste’s tits!” the man exclaimed, amused. “He’s lucky he made it out of there with his balls still attached to his body!”

The female guard laughed. “Too right. Can you imagine? Trying to cheat the Rougarou himself, right there in the back room of the Three Moons? Forget his balls, he’s lucky he made it out of there alive!”

The pair passed below where Josephine and her companion crouched, hidden on the rooftop.

“How _did_ he make it out?” the male guard asked.

“How do you think? Sneaky arsehole _talked_ his way out.”

“No!”

“Maker’s honest truth. Whipped up a story right there on the spot, about a rival in the Carta planting the card, part of an elaborate plan to frame him.”

“And Rougarou believed that horseshit?”

“Didn’t need him to _believe_ , needed to make him _laugh_.”

“Ahhhh…”

The voices faded. Josephine and the woman waited several long minutes more, scarcely breathing. If the guards caught them… the consequences would not be violently dangerous, Josephine suspected, but it would be extremely unpleasant, and an embarrassment she — and her reputation — might never recover from. But her companion seemed to think the way was clear, for she let go of Josephine’s hand and slipped over the edge of the roof, deftly landing on the top of the wall where the guards had been patrolling. Josephine was a little leery of the drop, which was about twelve feet, but if she did as the woman had done, hanging off the edge and then executing a controlled drop, she should manage.

She landed more heavily than the woman had, but kept her footing. Smiling at her, the woman then dropped over the end of the wall, into the garden, in the same way. Josephine followed suit, landing much more comfortably on the grassy ground. As soon as she straightened, the woman took her hand once more, leading her through the grounds’ trees.

Josephine wondered whose estate this was. If it was walled and guarded, it was bound to be someone quite powerful. She was a little nervous about that, but her excitement far outweighed her anxiety. Imagine! Climbing over the roofs of Val Royeaux in the company of a strange and intriguing woman! Sneaking into the pleasure-grounds of a powerful Orlesian noble! It was like something out of a tale.

The garden was beautiful, carefully tended and ideally designed. Copses of decorative trees, just a little too perfectly placed to be entirely natural, were spread throughout. Flowerbeds, which Josephine was sure would be full of colour during the day, were placed between these, along with soft, fragrant lawns of grass. The air smelled delicious, and Josephine allowed herself to breathe deeply, savouring it.

Soon, Josephine heard the splash of water. They came to the fountain, a tasteful affair carved from white marble, with water trickling melodically over spheres and through channels, into the pool below.

The woman guided Josephine to a large tree close by, then urged her to sit. They settled together in the grass beneath the tree, shoulder-to-shoulder, leaning back against the trunk. They sat like that, in silence, for a few moments. The sound of the fountain was musical; the view of the splashing water, and of the exquisite grounds beyond, was remarkable. Josephine allowed a small sigh to escape her. “It is very beautiful,” she murmured. 

The woman turned her eyes to gaze at Josephine. Her hand came up to Josephine’s face, softly caressing Josephine’s cheek, then drawing back the hood that was still mostly pulled over her head. She removed the scarf from her own head, allowing her startlingly red hair to fall free around her face. Then the woman dug about in her clothing, pulling from some hidden pocket a large stopped glass flask. She grinned at Josephine. “I liberated this bottle of mead from the tavern as we were leaving,” she said softly. “Will you share it with me?”

“You _stole_ something?” Josephine hissed, aghast.

The woman laughed quietly. “This is mead from Nevarra,” she said. “Far too sophisticated for the likes of that place, and besides which, the bottle was stolen before it was provided to the tavern’s owner.”

“You know that for a fact, do you?” Josephine said indignantly, trying to keep her voice down. Her family’s fortune was based in trade; she had no use for thieves.

The woman was fiddling with the stopper. “Don’t be so self-righteous,” she teased. “I do happen to know that it was stolen — though I do not know from whom — and I know who it was that gave it to the tavern owner, and why. You would not wish to hear the tale; it is rather grisly. There is a kind of natural justice in removing such a lovely bottle from such a vile situation.” The stopper came out with a soft pop.

“Two wrongs do not make a right,” Josephine grumbled.

The woman laughed again. “Indeed. But there are no formulas for ‘right.’ There is only doing what seems best at the time. And what seems best to me right now is drinking this mead, here in this lovely spot, and sharing it with a beautiful woman.”

Josephine felt herself flush, pleased at the compliment, but still upset. She hoped the darkness hid her confusion. The woman had lifted the flask to her mouth, sipping. Josephine saw her throat ripple as she swallowed.

The woman smiled. “Ah, this is very good. They make it with honey that comes from a valley where the only blossoming flowers are Deaths-head Roses.” She smirked. “Nevarran culture is… well. The mead, at any rate, is rare and wonderful. The roses, despite the name, are really beautifully fragrant, and impart a floral taste to the mead. Come, taste it.” She held the flask out to Josephine, leaning slightly in toward her as she did, smiling.

Josephine fought a brief and hopeless war with her conscience before taking the flask. What use was it, resisting this woman? She took a sip of the mead. It really _was_ exquisite, like nothing she had ever had before, sweet and crisp and tasting of honey and roses. She took another sip, then hummed in pleasure. She passed the flask back to her companion.

They settled back against the tree, the woman’s arm snaking through Josephine’s, linking them together, pulling her close. They passed the flask back and forth, sipping. At one point, the woman laid her head on Josephine’s shoulder. She began humming a melody, softly; Josephine thought perhaps it was a Ferelden tune. She had a beautiful voice, Josephine thought. The mead had warmed her blood, and she felt deeply happy.

Eventually, the flask was empty. They sat for some time, silently, the woman’s head on Josephine’s shoulder, turned so that her smooth forehead rested against the skin of Josephine’s neck. Neither seemed eager to move on to whatever came next.

Finally, the woman sighed. She tipped her head up slightly, pressing her cool nose into Josephine’s neck for an instant, then pulled away. “The night is ending,” she said. “We need to be well away from here before the sun rises.” She stood, holding her hands to Josephine, helping her rise. The woman, despite her small size, was surprisingly strong, pulling Josephine to her feet smoothly. Josephine was only a little lightheaded from the mead.

Josephine made a motion to retrieve the empty flask where it lay on the ground, but the woman tightened her grip on Josephine’s hands. Josephine looked to her in confusion. “No,” woman said. There was an edge of viciousness in her smile. “Leave it.”

“But, it will be found,” Josephine protested. “They will know we were here.”

“They will know _someone_ was here,” Leliana corrected her. “There is no chance that it will be tied to you or me. And the discovery of an empty bottle of rare Nevarran mead — with a tax stamp that will prove at least part of its provenance — on the grounds of this particular nobleman will have very _interesting_ consequences. Especially given the list of worthies that have been invited to his garden party tomorrow afternoon.”

Josephine gaped. “Then… this was all on purpose? To… to frame someone?”

The woman held very tightly to one of Josephine’s hands. She lifted her other hand to cup Josephine’s cheek, smiling wistfully. “It is all part of the Game, as I am sure you are well aware. But, you know, chérie, sweet little bird, I am so pleased I was able to meet you, and bring you along on this little escapade. It would have been so very lonely without you.” Josephine’s brows furrowed. The woman rose up and pressed a kiss between Josephine’s eyebrows, then pulled back, still cupping her face. “Truly,” she said, looking into Josephine’s eyes. “I am truly glad that you are here.” Her thumb stroked over Josephine’s cheek. Josephine closed her eyes. The hand on her cheek withdrew, and Josephine felt the hood being pulled once more over her head. “Now come, we must leave, and get you home.” Josephine opened her eyes, and gazed at this incredible, frustrating, beautiful woman she had spent all night with. She was tying the scarf about her hair, hiding it once more. Who _was_ she?

Then the woman was pulling on her hand, and they were walking once more through the garden grounds, in a different direction than they had come. The woman brought them to a door in the garden wall. It appeared disused; the locking handle appeared thoroughly rusted shut.

The woman let go of Josephine’s hand to reach into her clothing and pull out a small leather envelope. She opened this to reveal a set of gleaming tools — Josephine recognized them, from her days as a bard, as lockpicking tools. The woman selected a small glass-and-silver syringe of cloudy liquid which she inserted into the lock, thoroughly wetting the mechanism. She then took her time selecting the tools she would need. After a moment, she went to work; shortly thereafter, Josephine could hear the mechanism clicking into place. The woman replaced the tools and stuffed the envelope back into whatever hidden pocket it had come from, then carefully opened the door. It creaked on its hinges. She peeked through, and, satisfied with what she saw, sneaked past it, holding out her hand to pull Josephine through after her. She carefully closed the door, then began leading Josephine down the dark and disused alley they had emerged into.

“Won’t they find the oil in the lock?” Josephine asked in a whisper, recalling more of her barding experience.

“It wasn’t oil,” the woman replied quietly. “It was a potion, designed to dissolve rust temporarily before causing the metal to rust over once more. In an hour, that door will be completely sealed up again.”

She led Josephine to the end of the alley where they had to climb a wall about eight feet high — this proved tricky for Josephine, unused to climbing brick walls and trying to find hand- and -footholds in the dark. She managed though; perhaps the mead helped, making her forget her limitations. Then another series of backalleys, before they emerged into a street Josephine actually recognized. By then, the faint grey light of dawn had begun to illuminate the sky. “Oh!” she said. “Oh! We are close to where I live.”

The woman looked at her as they walked along the deserted avenue. “You are a student at the University, are you not?”

Josephine blinked, then nodded. Of course the woman knew, or had guessed.

“What will you do, with all your education?” the woman asked, not unkindly.

“I… I am thinking of becoming a diplomat,” she replied.

The woman nodded. “Working to make peace between disagreeing factions. I can see the appeal, though I don’t believe it an especially realistic goal.”

Josephine shook her head. “That is not true,” she protested. “There have been many successful brokerages of peaceful solutions to conflicts, even in recent memory. With hostilities between the mages and templars rising more and more every day, we need diplomacy now more than ever.”

The woman looked at her, not smiling, but not disapproving. “You feel strongly about this,” she remarked.

“I do,” Josephine replied, her chin set stubbornly.

“Well,” the woman said softly. “Perhaps, in time, you will prove me wrong.” She pulled Josephine into a side street. “Come, I know the way to the University’s residence buildings. We are very close, if we bypass the main streets.”

They walked down the side street, hand in hand. Josephine felt a kind of aching heaviness in her chest, knowing this extraordinary night was coming to an end. They turned down another side street and walked down it for some time, then they went through an alleyway, and when they came to the end of it, Josephine recognized the street she lived on. She slowed her pace, hesitating.

The woman turned to her. “This is where you live, yes?”

“Yes, but…” Josephine hesitated. “This night was… was like nothing else I have ever done,” she admitted. “I — I have enjoyed your company, and I find… I find I do not wish to part forever.” She felt a little foolish, being so forward, but she was running out of time. “Please, may I see you again?” 

“No, no, little bird.” The woman seemed almost saddened by the request. “No. You must… you must stay away from people like myself. You are so lovely, so beautiful, so sweet and warm. People like me… we use people like you. Until you are used up, and then we move on.”

Josephine looked at the woman’s face. She was looking at Josephine very earnestly, the consummate Game player, manipulating Josephine into leaving without a fuss. Yet… Josephine fancied she saw, beneath the manipulation… something. Something vulnerable, sad, lonely…? Josephine was not sure what. Only that it was there, and that this woman had buried it so far in herself that perhaps she was not herself entirely aware of its persistence.

But what could be done? Josephine had been a bard; she knew what the role could do to a person. And if this woman did not want to carry on with Josephine, for whatever reason, there was nothing Josephine could really do. 

Josephine leaned out of the alleyway. The street, though not deserted, was nearly so. Turning back to her companion, she asked one last time, “Are you quite certain — ”

The woman stepped close to Josephine, very close; their bodies pressed together. Josephine’s free arm automatically went around the woman’s waist, feeling how tiny and bird-like she was. The woman raised a finger to Josephine’s lips to silence her. “I am,” she murmured. Then, removing her finger, she leaned her face in very close. They were both shrouded by the hood Josephine still wore. Josephine tipped her face down to receive the woman’s kiss. Her lips were deft, clever, tracing tickling patterns around and over Josephine’s mouth. She tasted of honey and roses.

The woman leaned back, smiling at Josephine. Then, in a single motion, she pulled the mantelet from Josephine’s shoulders, swept it over her own shoulders, and, drawing the dark fabric of its hood up over her head, turned, and vanished back down the shadowy alleyway.

Josephine stepped out into the street, the pale light of dawn just starting to gild the windows that that lined the avenue. She felt tired, but full of light, her head still buzzing from the mead she had shared with her remarkable companion. She had never had such a night in her life. The festivals and feasts of Antiva City, the balls of Val Royeaux, even her own exploits as a bard… she thought none of it held a candle to this past night’s adventure.

As she approached her residence, Josephine saw, further down the street, a brougham pull up and disgorge the friends she had started the night with. She let out a small sigh of relief at their safe return, though more than one of them looked rather the worse for wear. Waving, she walked toward them. She could certainly offer a little compassionate care to the ones who needed it that morning.

Her adventure had felt entirely unlike the silly and aimless wanderings of her student friends. Last night had been the kind of grand exploit that Josephine imagined that was frequently undertaken by the daring, the bold, the rash and reckless. It had been so marvellously _exciting_. 

…As had been the woman in whose company she had spent it. Whose name, whose entire identity remained a complete mystery. Well, Josephine was absolutely certain she would recognize her, if they were to ever cross paths again. Smiling, she touched her fingers to her lips. She certainly _hoped_ they might cross paths again.


	2. A Real Party

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> From _Dragon Age: Inquisition_ :
> 
> Leliana:  
> I met her a long time ago, but we didn't become good friends until years later. After the Blight, in fact. I'd just returned to Val Royeaux, and she welcomed me by throwing a diplomatic ball. She was the Antivan ambassador at the time, you see. The ball was... all right. Too many politicians. At midnight, Josie and I left to find a _real_ party. We've been friends ever since.
> 
> Inquisitor:  
> What do you consider a real party?
> 
> Leliana:  
> It's not a real party till someone's smallclothes are pinned to a chantry board. And that's all I'm saying about it.

The ball was miserably dull.

Leliana almost felt badly for thinking this, but it was true. To be the guest of honour at a diplomatic gathering to welcome her back to Val Royeaux meant hours of tedious conversations with tiresome politicians. She was on her fourth such conversation of the evening, and was already counting down the minutes until she could reasonably vanish and find somewhere more interesting to be.

 _Finally_ , she extricated herself from an interminable account of the Lady Bellevue’s ongoing trade negotiations with Ferelden woodcutters, having spotted Lady Josephine Montilyet, who was hosting tonight’s soirée. Etiquette required that Leliana, as the guest of honour, seek out her hostess to properly greet her.

Leliana approached Lady Josephine from behind, noting the complicated braided knot of her glossy hair, the elaborate brocade dress, the delicate hose, and the deceptively-simple-looking but exquisite shoes with their distinctive extended welts and tapered square wingtips. She felt memories stir to the surface of her mind. Leliana sidled up to her, carefully insinuating herself between Lady Josephine and the lordling she was speaking to.

Placing the lightest of touches on the lordling’s arm, indicating a barrier more than a connection, Leliana said, “I am so very sorry, my lord, you must forgive me; but politesse demands that I pay my regards to my gracious hostess. Will you excuse us?” Leliana’s tone and body language subtly but firmly asserted her social rank, and her status as guest of honour at the present event. The man must have known he was outmatched; he bowed to them both and left.

Leliana turned to the Ambassador. It was so strange to think of how they had met — it seemed an age ago, though it had only been two years or so. She had been in a scheme to assist King Alistair, by undermining the Marquis of Val Foret in order to force him to reach out to his new Ferelden allies. That undertaking, at least, had gone well. It had been a pleasant distraction, one of the minor adventures Leliana had thrown herself into after the end of the Blight, after Marjolaine’s death, still unsure of what her place in the world could be. 

Leliana had come away from that night quite pleased with herself, having succeeded at her actual task, and also having spent much of the night seducing the beautiful, naïve young woman she had rescued from that disreputable tavern. It had been thoroughly enjoyable.

She had not entirely been able to conceal her reaction when, several months later, she was back in Val Royeaux on more above-board business, and was introduced to Lady Josephine Montilyet at a tea party thrown by one of Duke de Freyen’s daughters. All the attendees were unmasked, as was tradition for afternoon parties hosted by and for ladies, so recognition had been mutual and instantaneous. To come across the young woman from the mead caper was… well, not _shocking_. Really, Leliana ought to have anticipated the possibility that they would meet again in their legitimate activities, since the young woman was obviously an ambitious and educated noblewoman. Well, apparently it was a lesson Leliana would have to learn again and again: never assume _anyone_ will just go away and never encounter you again.

Leliana had recovered almost immediately, and did not think that anyone had noticed her momentary confusion. Lady Josephine, to her credit, recovered nearly as fast. They were introduced as though they were strangers, which, to be fair, they still essentially were. They made small talk, with one another and with the other party guests, and all was well.

There had been the possibility that Lady Josephine might go to some of the authorities about their activities that night, or use it against her in some other way. After all, the Val Foret affair had been a minor scandal at the time. But Lady Josephine — who was, after all, herself complicit — had kept her silence, and the more colourful aspects of the aftermath of the whole affair were mostly over and done with by then.

They had occasionally crossed paths since that afternoon party, when Leliana found herself in Val Royeaux. Those times, they had greeted one another as casual acquaintances, in ways that acknowledged Leliana’s superior social status, as was proper. And the young woman never attempted to… revisit their companionship. That was a relief, for it would complicate things. But in a way, it was a pity. Josephine Montilyet was undoubtedly beautiful; at functions where they met, she was interesting and insightful, though deferential; Leliana longed to find out if she could be persuaded to accompany her on more interesting — and illicit — activities.

And now she had come into her own, was Antiva’s Ambassador to Orlais, and had a reputation as a prudent and judicious young woman. Ah, well.

Leliana held out both hands to the Ambassador. “Lady Josephine!” she said, genuine delight in her voice and manner. “It is so very good to see you again.”

Lady Josephine took Leliana’s hands and leaned in so they could exchange cheek kisses. Both were wearing half-masks; Leliana allowed her lips to actually brush the skin of Lady Josephine’s cheek, and felt a small glow of gratification when the Ambassador did the same. She caught the faintest trace of Lady Josephine’s perfume.

“Sister Leliana,” Lady Josephine said when they pulled back, their hands still clasped. “Thank you for gracing us with your presence at this small gathering. Your return to Val Royeaux is a boon to the city.”

It was the proper, passionless, boring thing to say. Not that Leliana herself was willing to truly be witty beyond the strictures of etiquette and the Grand Game, not surrounded as they were by stuffy and ambitious politicians. _Maker_ but she wanted to get out of here, and now, seeing Lady Josephine again, Leliana found she wished to bring the younger woman with her. A quick fantasy flashed through her mind: the two of them, hand in hand, dashing away covertly into the night, exhilarating adventures, the scent of her perfume at the juncture where her neck met her jaw — 

Leliana took a quick breath through her nose. An idle thought, to be set aside. Such a thing was most likely impossible, even if the proper Madame Ambassador had been willing.

Leliana signalled to a passing servant, retrieving two tiny glasses of amber liquid from his tray. She remarked, “I must congratulate you on this Rivaini apricot liqueur, Lady Josephine.” She handed one of the glasses to the other woman. “Quite the coup, serving this. I had only just heard of it, myself, the other day, mentioned in passing as a recent import. It isn’t even fashionable yet. They will be talking of this for weeks to come, as everyone else starts serving it at their parties.”

“You flatter me,” Lady Josephine said, pleasure colouring her voice. “But come, Sister Leliana, we must drink to your return to Val Royeaux.”

Leliana nodded in acknowledgment, they touched their glasses lightly, and sipped. Leliana rolled the liqueur over her tongue, relishing its subtle tartness. She offered her arm to Lady Josephine, who took it — making contact with only fingers and the edge of her palm, perfectly proper and correct — and they walked slowly about the room, chatting and sipping their drinks. They angled their bodies and heads slightly toward one another to indicate to other guests that they were not to be interrupted, and such a wish between the hostess and the guest of honour would most likely be respected, unless there was someone in attendance who was feeling especially punchy (which Leliana seriously doubted, in this crowd).

They spoke of all the expected things: Leliana’s travels, and her forthcoming appointment as Left Hand of the Divine; Josephine’s activities, and her rise to the rank of Ambassador in Antivan diplomatic circles; the tamer gossip from the court; the apricot liqueur; the weather.

Lady Josephine was, in many ways, a wonderful conversation partner, even as she limited herself to such dull topics. There were enough high-ranking ears around that she would not chance speaking of anything more risqué. She was decorous and appropriate and everything that was required of a hostess and Ambassador.

Their conversation wound down, and they parted with the usual civilities and promises to speak later in the evening. As Lady Josephine’s attention was claimed by a pair of brothers who wished to enquire about Antiva City’s economy since the end of the Blight, Leliana moved off to see if she could find anyone else even slightly interesting to speak with until the dancing started.

An hour later, Leliana concluded that this was an impossible task. The entire invitation list was exactly what was expected of a gathering hosted by the Antivan Ambassador, with the imminent Left Hand of the Divine as guest of honour: well-behaved, moderately-ambitious, politically-inclined nobility. Conversations with such as these tended to be as uninteresting and repetitious as traveling in the Hinterlands in the rainy season.

The musicians eventually assembled in the gallery, and the gathered people prepared to dance or to watch the dancing. Leliana was as judicious as she could be about whose hand she accepted to dance; she did not wish to sour the atmosphere of the ball by refusing _everyone_ , and thus damage Lady Josephine’s standing, but so many of these politicians were insufferable. Their conversation was dull. They trod on Leliana’s toes and had very little sense of rhythm. Leliana knew they were all important politicians, skilled in other aspects of the Game, but it galled Leliana that they could not also be charming and entertaining.

So she danced when she had to, and sat out when she could, hoping to find a more interesting conversation in between her dances. She idly wished that Lady Josephine might ask her to dance; but this would not happen. It was considered very bad form for a host to dance at all, since they could not dance with very many people without neglecting their duties, and to dance with only one or two partners would be to slight all other attendees. _Tant pis_.

The dancing wound down, and the musicians began playing chamber music. It was, by then, close to midnight. Leliana calculated that she had remained long enough. Some few other guests had since left. A silent retreat was now acceptable, she decided.

Her promise to speak once more with Lady Josephine was not intended, nor would it be read, as binding, Leliana knew; still, she hated to simply slip away without speaking to her again. She actually enjoyed the Ambassador’s company. Well, they would likely have other opportunities to interact, now that Leliana had direct ties to the Grand Cathedral and was likely to be in Val Royeaux a little more frequently.

Slowly, Leliana began extricating herself from the energy (such as it was) of the ball. It would not do to simply disappear; people would notice, and it might reflect poorly on Lady Josephine. She eased to the edges of the rooms, moving slowly but never settling, allowing her body language to deflect attention. Soon, no one was approaching her, no one’s head was following her movements through a room. It was time, thank the Maker.

Leliana knew this building well enough to be confident of the best way to get to the streets. She slipped into a small, dark parlour, then made her way into a hallway that was mostly used by servants. This hallway she took to the room where the ball guests’ cloaks were hung. After ensuring the room was unguarded and deserted, Leliana slipped in, acquired her cloak, slipped it on, and turned to leave. She knew the hallway outside this room intersected with another hallway, which Leliana would take to a series of small storerooms — deserted at this hour, or so she hoped — from which she could get to the street.

She had barely made it out of the cloakroom when a soft voice stopped her in her tracks. “You mean to leave me? Have I done something to offend you?” The tone was forlorn, but with the tiniest _soupçon_ of teasing.

Smiling despite herself, Leliana slowly turned to see Lady Josephine, her mask lifted, her expression a perfect mirror of her tone. Despite herself, Leliana could not stop a soft laugh; Lady Josephine had a reputation for being extraordinarily observant, and it was no surprise that she would have noticed her guest of honour sneaking out despite Leliana’s efforts.

“Please accept my apologies, Lady Josephine,” Leliana said sincerely. “It was a lovely ball, in so many ways, but….” She struggled to find an excuse that would not offend the Ambassador. 

“But not exactly glamorous, nor an especially fascinating crowd, I know,” Josephine said with a sigh. Leliana’s jaw dropped a little. “These diplomatic balls lack any intrigue or éclat. I am not overly fond of them myself, except insofar as they are professionally useful to me. I am, to be honest, rather surprised that you stayed this long.”

Leliana recovered from her mild shock rapidly, offering a weak smile. “I… would not have expected to hear you say so.”

Lady Josephine raised one eyebrow. “Oh? You assumed that I am a humourless and charmless dignitary, a player of the political part of the Grand Game, taking enjoyment in nothing else?”

Leliana opened her mouth to protest before she even fully registered the grain of teasing in Lady Josephine’s tone. Closing her mouth, she simply smiled at the other woman, pleasantly surprised. Apparently she _had_ come into her own, in more ways than one.

Lady Josephine went on, “I am frankly shocked that you were considering abandoning me to go find a _real_ party on your own, after I went to the trouble of arranging this ball for you — and importing that apricot liqueur!” She made to enter the cloakroom, moving Leliana by touching both her elbows and directing her to one side so she could pass.

Leliana blinked. “A ‘real party’?” she repeated.

Lady Josephine found her cloak, its material as fine and dark as Leliana’s own. She turned to Leliana and gave her a disarming smile. “Indeed. I cannot imagine you were planning to end the celebration of your triumphant return to Val Royeaux so early? Truly, you cannot think that the only welcome I would arrange for you would be a stuffy diplomatic ball?”

Leliana was well and truly charmed. “You… planned this?” she asked, delighted.

“I made an educated guess about your likely escape route,” Lady Josephine replied, putting on her cloak and securing the the clasp by her throat. “I am gratified to be proven correct. Now come. I happen to know that Comte de Bullion’s son is throwing a private party at his second manor. Very secret, of course. But I understand that it will be a most _interesting_ gathering….”

Leliana looked at the other woman, impressed and enraptured. “Well. This is proving to be a genuinely delightful welcome to Val Royeaux, Lady Josephine.”

The other woman took her hand and tucked it into the crook of her arm. She smiled at Leliana, who was suddenly struck by how clear and sparkling her eyes were, grey-green and gold-brown. “Tonight, I am ‘Josephine’ to you,” she said.

Leliana smiled back. The evening was most _definitely_ getting more interesting by the minute. “Then you must call me ‘Leliana,’” she said, giving Josephine’s arm a slight squeeze.

Josephine pulled her mask back down, then led Leliana out — a slightly different route than the one Leliana had planned, since Josephine apparently had keys — and they were out on the streets of Val Royeaux, leaning into one another and laughing breathily. They chatted about the ball and its attendants as they strode through the streets (main streets, well-lit and full of other party-goers and merrymakers such as themselves), and more than once Josephine made Leliana laugh out loud with a particularly cutting observation, or gave her pause by remarking on some subtle behaviour that Leliana herself had scarcely noticed. What a truly exceptional young woman she was, Leliana thought. How absolutely wonderful.

The party at de Bullion’s second manor was indeed secret, held in rooms that were tucked away at the back of the building. Leliana was not even certain that there was any party to speak of, the manor was so apparently dark and silent. But Josephine apparently knew which gate to enter, what to say to the guard stationed there, and how much coin to press into the hand of the servant they encountered inside the side-door of the house itself.

The party consisted of perhaps a hundred guests milling about, some masked and others not; a quartet of musicians played off to one side of the large room. There were no servants circulating with trays — it was not that kind of party — but people could be seen sipping from flasks and bottles around the room. Leliana quickly scanned the room, noting the eddies and currents of energy and influence that were at play, knowing that Josephine was doing the same thing.

They entered the room together, first approaching a group of masked people and joining their conversation about the various meanings of flowers that could be given (which could denote anything from love to a death threat, at least in Orlais). It was a lively conversation, in which the participants were simultaneous trying to out-do the others in wit and knowledge, while also ensuring that the flow of the discourse was carried along and not dominated by any one person. It was engaging and interesting, and quite the opposite of the kind of conversation Leliana had been enduring at the ball they had left.

Soon after, Josephine and Leliana found themselves separated, following conversational threads that led them to different parts of the room, with different groups of people. Josephine’s brief squeeze to Leliana’s hand before they parted ways conveyed her desire to reconnect later, and Leliana’s answering caress of Josephine’s forearm confirmed her agreement.

It was exhilarating, especially after a relatively dull evening, to allow herself to be swept into one animated and enjoyable group of people after another. The conversation everywhere in the room was intelligent and entertaining; people were playing the Game, but this was a relatively informal party, meant primarily for social purposes, and anyone overtly jockeying for real power would likely be frowned upon and quickly excluded from the fellowship of the gathering. There were a few overly-inebriated people, but they too had their place, almost as jesters, usually bringing a certain randomness and boisterous vitality to the conversations they appeared in.

Leliana noted that a number of people, in twos and threes and occasionally other configurations, were more-or-less surreptitiously leaving the party through dim doorways in the back of the room, their arms around one another. Ah; so it was also _that_ kind of party. Despite the absolutely fascinating conversation she was part of, about the evolution of jewelled slippers in Orlesian fashion and their place in both race and class relations at court, Leliana found herself a little distracted. After all, she had come to this party on the arm of a woman she had known to be beautiful and intelligent, and who had proven herself to be fascinating and exciting as well. It was not difficult to imagine sweeping Josephine into her arms, pulling her back toward one of those doors, running her hands over the curves of Josephine’s body before — 

Leliana briefly closed her eyes and forced herself back to the present. She supposed it was possible but… although Josephine had shown herself to be far less straight-laced than her reputation suggested, Leliana had no reason to suspect she had any interest beyond casual flirtation. Though it was certainly very tempting to consider testing just how much she _was_ interested….

As Leliana’s eyes swept the room, she spotted Josephine, who was even at that moment at the centre of a group of people. Everyone in the group seemed absolutely rapt by Josephine, who was speaking and gesturing with one hand in that way she had. Leliana could hardly blame them; Josephine was captivating, beautiful even clad in conservative Antivan-style dress, even masked.

But… something seemed off about the energy of the group Josephine was with. Her body language suggested to Leliana that she as uncomfortable with something that was happening. Leliana knew that Josephine was more than capable of handling herself, but this awareness made it essentially impossible for her to focus on the conversation happening immediately around her.

She continued to contribute perfunctorily to the footwear discussion, carefully dividing her attention between her own conversation and Josephine. Eventually, she was able to pinpoint the issue. A man in the group, tall and broad-shouldered, masked, dressed in fine but unremarkable clothing, was paying very pointed attention to Josephine and apparently ignoring the others in the conversation. It was throwing off the group dynamic, Leliana could see, but the man seemed unaware of the efforts that Josephine and the others in the circle were making to counteract his imposition.

Leliana saw him tip up his mask and take a long pull from a flask. Ah; that explained why he was behaving in a way that was disruptive to the dynamic of the party. Then he leaned unsteadily over and placed his arm around Josephine’s shoulders, who stiffened visibly.

Before she was even aware of what she was doing, Leliana was halfway across the room. She felt an irrational anger surge up in her, and a fierce protectiveness toward Josephine that was utterly baffling but absolutely irresistible. Quickly tamping down on her anger — it would not do to pull one of her knives on this man, not here and now — she sidled up to Josephine, slipped her hand around the other woman’s waist, and drew her several steps away from the masked man. He stumbled a little as Josephine was pulled out from under his arm.

Josephine’s arm came around Leliana’s shoulders, and she leaned in toward her. “Why, where have you been, my friend?” she said. She was gently urging Leliana to walk away from the group with her. “I have just heard the most _interesting_ theory about magic use in the different races….” Josephine allowed her voice to trail off as they moved away from the group. “Oh, thank you so much!” she said quietly, her head turned toward Leliana. “I do not think he is dangerous, but he is an absolute _boor_.”

Leliana replied, equally quietly. “That man — now that I have seen him up close, I am sure I recognize him. That is Knight-Captain Marcus. He has ties to the Grand Cathedral, but he is attached to the Circle at the Valoire Chantry on the Grand Boulevard. ” She felt rather than heard Josephine’s intake of breath. “I will say that, based on his reputation in the Chantry, it does not entirely surprise me to see him here, though I will admit that his behaviour is… a little shocking.”

“One might expect better behaviour of a Templar,” Josephine said huffily.

“You can’t have met many Templars,” Leliana replied, amused. “Many of them are fine, upstanding people. But, as in any group of people, there are individuals whose behaviour does not entirely stand up to scrutiny.”

“Hm. It’s a pity. I was enjoying myself.”

“As was I.” Leliana noted, with some consternation, that they seemed to be veering toward the shadowy passages at the back of the room. How tempting it would be to steer Josephine down one of those hallways, into somewhere dark and private, find out what kind of noises Josephine might make when Leliana — 

“Ladies!” Leliana was roughly jostled from behind. It was the man Leliana was quite sure must be Knight-Captain Marcus; there was no mistaking his distinctive rumbling voice. “Look at the two of you, thick as thieves! What would two such lovely women have to talk about alone?”

Leliana felt Josephine tense. She gave the man as cold a look as she could manage, turning her body away from him, half-protective of Josephine and half-rebuffing of the man’s rounding on them. “Certainly, ser, women might have as much to discuss in private as anyone,” she said, her voice as sharp as knives. “As it happens, we wish to speak without your intrusion. If you would excuse us.”

The man would not be deterred. He had, by now, blocked their path; it was attracting attention, and it would be difficult to extricate themselves without undue fuss. “Come now,” he said, swaying slightly. “As we are all masked, you may not know who I am, but I assure you, I am a man you would wish to please,” he said, leering first at Josephine, then addressing Leliana’s cleavage.

Leliana could not keep a sneer off her face; it would be visible below her half-mask, but she did not care. No one at this party would fault her for being openly disdainful of a man who was so flagrantly interrupting the evening’s bonhomie.

Josephine had drawn herself closer to Leliana’s side. Leliana could feel her body pressed up against her own, could feel the edge of her breast pressing into her arm, could smell her perfume and feel her breath flutter against her temple…. Her flights of fancy, of taking Josephine into one of the back rooms, surfaced once more in her mind….

Suddenly, Leliana had an absolutely _wicked_ idea.

Before she could examine it too closely, she acted. Shifting her posture so that her body was more angled toward Josephine, she gave the man a look over her shoulder that, even in his current state, he could not mistake. “Well then, ser. We were about to retire to… somewhere more private.” She glanced at the darkened doorways. He followed her look, and a pleased rumble escaped him. “Perhaps — since, as you say, we should wish to please you — you would care to… join us?”

The man chortled. “Well, well! That’s the finest invitation I’ve had, I must say. Come, then, come.” He attempted to guide Leliana by the arm toward the nearest doorway, but she would not be moved.

“Now, ser,” she said, her voice all honey, “we should not be seen leaving all at once. A man of your standing, after all….” She made a show of glancing around. A number of amused faces were turned in their direction, though it was unlikely the man was aware of the scrutiny. “Allow us to find a suitable room. You could come join us in a few minutes… to preserve your dignity. It would not do for a man of your standing to be seen chasing after women at a gathering such as this.”

The man was nodding as though it had been his own idea. “Yes, of course, of course. Well.” He winked broadly at her. “Feel free to get started without me!” With another chortle, he released Leliana’s arm and stepped back unsteadily. “I’ll be there before you know it!”

Leliana, still holding Josephine close about the waist, led them down the shadowy hallway. They passed a number of closed doors. “Thank the Maker you were able to get him away!” Josephine was saying, with feeling. “Surely there will be a way out of this hallway. However much we were enjoying the party, I think perhaps — ”

Leliana pulled Josephine through an open door, then a few feet into the room beyond. Turning Josephine to face her, she put both hands on Josephine’s waist. She allowed herself a wicked smile. “We _could_ leave,” she said. “Or… we could have some fun with Monsieur Knight-Captain first.” Leliana went up on tiptoe and leaned close to Josephine’s ear. She whispered her plan to Josephine.

When she pulled back, Josephine was looking at her sceptically. Leliana adopted her best pleading look (which she hoped was not too blunted by the half-mask), rubbing her thumbs in small circles at Josephine’s waist. “ _Please_ , Josie,” she crooned. “When else will we have such an opportunity? It will be so much _fun!_ ” She allowed a veil of vulnerability to colour her voice. “Unless… unless you do not wish to… with _me_ , that is….” 

Josephine rolled her eyes, visible even with the mask. But she still put her arms around Leliana’s shoulders, and Leliana knew that she had won even if Josephine saw right through her tactics. “You are too much,” Josephine said with fond exasperation. 

Leliana smiled and slid her arms more fully around Josephine’s waist under her cloak, pulling their bodies together. She pressed her nose to Josephine’s ear and allowed herself to breathe in the scent of her perfume, to revel in the warm vulnerability of her skin. Then, on the exhale, she whispered, “Our friend is coming down the hallway.” Indeed, the man’s unsteady footfalls were hardly more stealthy than a rampaging druffalo’s. 

“Well, well,” the man said. He was standing in the doorway; Leliana turned her head to give him a disdainful look. “I see you two are impatient to begin.” He made to enter the room.

“No, no, no closer,” Leliana said quickly. The man stopped, caught between offence and uncertainty. “Not yet,” Leliana added. She walked Josephine toward the room’s one chair — the only furniture aside from a tastefully-made bed. She urged Josephine to sit in the sturdy padded armchair, then moved to stand behind her, draping her arms over the other woman’s shoulders. “Close the door, ser,” Leliana instructed, before dipping her head to press her lips to the skin just above Josephine’s collar, where her neck and shoulder met.

“Ah, yes, indeed,” the man said, moving to obey Leliana’s command while twisting his neck so he could watch the two women at the same time. Consequently, it took him some time to get the door closed and latched. Leliana took advantage of this interval to place kisses along Josephine’s neck. This really was utterly shameless and selfish of her; but Josephine appeared to appreciate the attention, making soft little gasping noises and tilting her head, inviting Leliana’s wandering lips.

When Leliana heard the latch click into place, she looked up. The man swayed on his feet and took a step toward the women. Leliana held up her hand. “Wait, please, monsieur.” She moved around to the other side of the chair, and seated herself in Josephine’s lap. The other woman’s arms came around her waist, holding her close. Leliana leaned back, placing her hands over Josephine’s. To her delight, she felt Josephine press a hesitant kiss to the back of her neck. She squeezed Josephine’s hands, encouraging. Oh, yes, this was going to be _enjoyable_.

Leliana was brought back to attention by the man making an appreciative noise. She felt a stab of annoyance. If only the man was not here! But no; they had a plan. They had a plan, and Leliana intended to see it through, no matter the temptation to allow her attention to wander….

“Monsieur, I think that you are overdressed for this portion of the evening,” she said; she did not have to work to give her voice the right timbre of arousal, for Josephine’s mouth was tracing delicate patterns on the side of her neck, while her hands began to slide very slowly up and down over Leliana’s ribs. Leliana fought to find her voice again. “As you can see, we are presently occupied, but there is nothing stopping you from, hmmm, preparing yourself….” She writhed in Josephine’s lap when the other woman’s lips found a particularly sensitive spot. Josephine’s hands held her relentlessly in place. It was all extremely wonderful, and extremely distracting.

The man hesitated. Josephine stopped kissing Leliana’s neck to look up. “Yes, monsieur, please do,” she said, her voice sweet. “Do… let us see you.” Leliana heard the disingenuousness in her voice, though it was clear the man did not. Needing no more encouragement, he began removing his jacket. Between his inebriation and his attempts to keep his eyes on the two women, this appeared to be quite the challenge.

Meanwhile, Josephine had gone back to kissing Leliana’s neck. One of Josephine’s hands slid up Leliana’s torso, until her fingers were tracing along the skin right at the neckline of Leliana’s low-cut gown. Leliana arched into the touch, throwing her head back. Her hips rocked of their own volition, pressing down into Josephine’s lap.

A deep rumble distracted her, _again_. The man was frozen, staring at them, his jacket discarded, his shirt half-on-half-off. Josephine’s fingers did not stop moving, though, making it very difficult for Leliana to articulate a response. With a great effort, she ground out, “Monsieur… now your shirt.” This was enough to spur the man back into action, such as it were; his movements were still laborious.

Josephine continued to press increasingly-insistent kisses to the side of her neck, while her fingers were still playing at Leliana’s neckline. Leliana really was becoming thoroughly distracted. Despite their unwelcome guest, Leliana felt an urgent heat flashing through her body. Josephine slipped a single finger into Leliana’s bodice, stroking the exquisitely sensitive skin of her breast; it was enough to pull a gasp from Leliana. A pink haze filled her vision, arousal clouding her determination.

Shaking it off, Leliana focused her eyes on the man, now shirtless and wrestling with his belt. “Ah, yes, monsieur,” she managed in a breathy voice. “You’re getting there…”

Her voice faltered as Josie’s fingers slid from her neckline to her throat, tracing, tickling, up to her jawline. Leliana found her face being turned toward Josie’s, and her mouth claimed in a sweet kiss.

Somehow, despite everything, all her experience, all her attempts at manipulation, at maintaining control, Leliana was caught completely off-guard, and was lost in the kiss. Josie’s lips were unimaginably soft and sure as they moved against Leliana’s. Josie had one arm still around Leliana, holding her firmly in her lap, the other gently cupping Leliana’s cheek as she kissed her. Leliana gave in to her without a second thought. Josie’s tongue slipped out, tasting, and Leliana moaned, sweeping her own tongue into the kiss, rolling her hips against Josephine’s lap. Desire pooled deep inside her body, pulsing with her heartbeat. With Josephine’s perfume in her nose, hearing the soft little hums she made with each kiss, feeling Josie’s hands sure and firm at her waist and cheek, Leliana found herself _wanting_ , needing to claim this beautiful woman….

The dull thud of a boot hitting the ground startled Leliana back to the situation at hand. Disoriented, she looked over to see the man, now naked except for one boot, tugging said boot off as he hopped about on one foot. Josephine stifled a giggle against Leliana’s neck. Finally, the man was successful, pulling the boot off and letting it drop to the floor with its mate. He stood in what he obviously thought was all his glory, arms spread, mask no doubt hiding an eager smile, cock at half-mast.

Leliana could feel Josephine shaking with silent laughter, her face buried against Leliana’s neck. Tamping down her own urge to smile, she instead rose (reluctantly) from Josephine’s lap and stepped toward the man. She knew she looked debauched — mask askew, neckline unevenly tugged down, her _décolletage_ and throat flushed. “Well, monsieur, you have gotten ahead of _us_ now, it seems,” she purred, getting her head back in the Game. She stalked around him, moving in a way that communicated to him — even in his still-drunken state — that he was to remain where he was. Josephine watched with interest from the chair.

Leliana came up behind the man and ran her hand over his bare shoulders, pressing herself to his backside. He made a little moaning noise. She stage-whispered, “And now, monsieur, I’m afraid it’s time to say good-night.” Before he could react to that, Leliana pulled back half a step, then struck a neat blow to the side of his head with the pommel of the dagger she had slipped out while she stalked behind him. He dropped to the floor like a sack of grain.

Josephine abruptly rose from the chair with a startled squawk. “Leliana! What — I thought when you said you would ‘knock him out’ you meant with… with knockout drops, perhaps, or more liquor!”

Leliana shrugged. “This way is more efficient. I suspect that he has had enough to drink tonight that his headache will not be appreciably worse come morning.” Josephine had knelt down next to the man, and was apparently checking his head. Leliana shook her head. “Come, Josie, I _have_ done this before, you know. He’ll have a bump on his head tomorrow, but will otherwise be fine. He deserves much worse, in my opinion,” Leliana said, feeling the edges of her anger return. “Disrupting the party like that, harassing you, treating two women as though they were a performance for his gratification….”

Josephine straightened and gave Leliana a pointed look. “Well, he certainly had your encouragement in that last part.”

Leliana, stepping over the prone man, put her arms around Josephine’s waist. “Oh, Josie, don’t be angry,” she said, conciliatory. “He was being a complete churl. He will awaken with his gold and all his belongings — or nearly all — and a headache, but that is all. Many people have paid much more dearly for such indiscretions.” 

Josephine sighed. “Perhaps.”

Leliana nestled herself up against Josephine, wrapping her arms around the other woman, tilting her head back to look imploringly into her eyes. Josephine shook her head a little in exasperation, but her arms came around Leliana, and she allowed Leliana to kiss her lips. A small contented sigh escaped Leliana. She felt herself melt into Josie’s arms, giving herself over entirely to her lips… oh, this woman was _dangerous_ ….

A ragged moan jostled them both back to awareness. They glanced down at the man, who was beginning to stir. Leliana glanced at Josephine with a wicked glint in her eyes. Pulling herself out of Josephine’s embrace, she darted to the pile of the man’s discarded clothing, grabbed his silk smallclothes and stuffed them into a deep pocket, then took Josephine by the hand to lead her out of the room.

They made their escape (after Josephine insisted on, at the very least, closing the door behind them, granting the man a degree of dignity Leliana was not convinced he deserved), walking swiftly through the halls of the manor, bypassing the ballroom, until they came to the same side-door they had entered through. This time it was Leliana who pressed a coin into the hand of the servant who saw them out and closed the door behind them, then another to the guard at the gate — a bit of extra coin always smoothed paths and kept tongues quieter than they otherwise might be.

Once out on the street, Leliana saw there were fewer pedestrians than before, but the well-lit boulevard was far from deserted, even at this hour. They were hardly the only party-goers spilling out into the street. They walked away from the manor in silence, but once they were a block or so away, Leliana wound her arm through Josephine’s and leaned into her with a joyful laugh. “Well,” she said to Josephine, “tonight certainly ended up being more interesting than I could have hoped! Imagine, starting out from a diplomatic ball, and coming to this, now….” She gave a happy sigh.

Josephine glanced at her, amused. “I suppose I’m very glad to have successfully welcomed you back to Val Royeaux.”

Leliana gave her a brilliant smile. “I’ve seldom had a better welcome in my life, I promise you!”

They walked along for several minutes, enjoying the cool night air, the sparkling of the veilfire street lamps, the feeling of exhilarating freedom that they both knew would come less and less to their lives now. Leliana reflected that, although she would be in Val Royeaux more often now, her duties as Left Hand might well restrict her from seeing Josephine; certainly there would be few opportunities for going out into the night to find adventures in the alleys and back rooms of Val Royeaux. Similarly, Josephine, despite twice now proving herself to be a consummate urban adventurer, would likely find herself tied up in bureaucracy and work and propriety.

Leliana pushed such thoughts to the back of her mind. The night would last several more hours, she was sure; and although they seemed to be wandering down the street without purpose, Leliana knew exactly where she was taking them….

Arm in arm with Josephine, Leliana walked them down the Grand Boulevard. When they came to the Valoire Chantry, Leliana began leading Josephine into the chantry-yard, which was deserted this time of night. Josephine resisted a little, and Leliana turned to smile at her. “Come, Josie,” she said, her voice teasing. “We must find a suitable location to display our trophy, mustn’t we?”

“Leliana, what are you planning?” Josephine muttered, amusement and disapproval warring in her features.

Leliana could not help herself; she went up on tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to the corner of Josephine’s mouth. When she pulled back, Josephine was smiling despite herself, which was much better, Leliana thought.

Leliana left Josephine standing in the shadow of the chantry-yard wall, and approached the chanter’s board. Moving quickly, she scooped up several discarded nails from the ground around the board. She drew the Knight-Captain’s silk smallclothes — rather tasteful, Leliana had to admit, certainly high-quality materials and workmanship — out from her pocket, and then pulled out the same dagger she had applied to the Knight-Captain’s head. Using the dagger’s heavy pommel, Leliana quickly and solidly nailed the smallclothes to the very centre of the chantry-board. Feeling particularly vindictive and juvenile, she hammered one of the nails directly into the crotch of the smallclothes; it stuck out obscenely. Stepping back, replacing the dagger in its hidden sheath, she admired her handiwork for a moment, smirking. Then she scurried back to Josephine, laughing breathlessly, and threw herself into the other woman’s arms. Josephine’s arms went around her, holding her, and Leliana felt utterly happy. Still laughing, she turned her face into Josie’s neck, nuzzling the soft skin there. Eventually, Josephine began chuckling as well. They stood, embracing, laughing together, for some minutes.

Finally, Josie said, “You are much too much,” her voice full of musical laughter. “Come, we should go before we are found out.” Linking their arms, Josephine led them back to the Grand Boulevard.

They eventually wound up at the Antivan embassy, a stately building in the consular district. Josephine — possessed of many keys, it seemed — let them in through a small side door, leading them through back hallways until they emerged through a servants’ door into what Leliana soon guessed was Josephine’s office. They took off their masks, and laid their cloaks over the copious clear space on Josephine’s tidy desk. “I did not wish to go to the residence wing,” Josephine explained as she used a bellow to revive the fire. “There may yet be people skulking about those hallways, even at this hour. We are less likely to be disturbed here, at least until after the breakfast hour.” If Leliana felt a small twist of disappointment at not being taken to Josephine’s bed, well, she had never really harboured any such hopes. So she told herself, making herself comfortable on the settee before the fire.

Leliana watched as Josephine got the fire going, and made a pot of tea for them. Even in such mundane tasks, Josephine moved gracefully, and Leliana found herself a little mesmerized. In the dark room, with the warmth of the fire, sitting on the plush settee, perfectly safe and content, she felt drowsiness tug at the edges of her consciousness. Josephine stirred lumps of sugar into the tea, apologized that there was no milk, then handed a filled cup to Leliana and settled herself, tucked up against Leliana, cradling her own cup. The tea revived Leliana somewhat. “This is very nice,” she said, referring to the tea.

“Ah, this is from Antiva,” Josephine said. “My family is involved in its distribution and shipping. It is the second most popular tea available in northeastern Thedas….” Josephine went on, warming to her subject, speaking of the origins of the tea, segueing into its role in Josephine’s family gatherings.

Listening fondly to Josie speak of her family, Leliana reflected on how sweet and charming Josephine was, intelligent and kind and engaging. She let her head rest on Josephine’s shoulder, staring into the fire. This night had been so much _fun_. She found she truly enjoyed Josephine’s company, for any number of reasons. She had wonderful memories of their first night adventuring together — though of course she had not known who Josephine was then. And Josephine had been younger, and much less experienced. Then, she had been charming in her innocence; now, she was interesting and engaging, competent and confident… yet still with a deep and abiding sweetness.

Leliana wanted, very much, to let herself sink into a beautiful dream with Josephine. How wonderful it could be — both of them doing the important work that meant so much to each of them, but coming together often for the kind of frivolous adventure such as they had shared tonight. Then, at the end of each adventure, coming together more closely…. 

Leliana woke from a light doze as Josephine relieved her of her teacup. Leliana was briefly disoriented, a little embarrassed that she had fallen asleep as Josephine spoke. She could not recall the last time she had fallen asleep curled next to someone like this… or rather, she could, but preferred not to.

Josephine turned to her, sliding her arm along the back of the settee and then wrapping it around Leliana’s shoulders, pulling her close. Josephine’s other hand came under Leliana’s chin, tipping her face up. Josephine’s lips were warm from the tea, her tongue sweet from the sugar. Leliana relaxed into her embrace, curling her body into Josephine’s, her hands sliding around the other woman’s waist. Josephine’s kisses were slow and careful, but oh, they stirred something deep inside Leliana. For long moments, Leliana allowed herself to pretend that it could happen. She could let this happen, drink deeply of Josephine’s sweetness, lose herself, claim all of Josephine’s sensual tenderness for herself….

It was _profoundly_ tempting. But she could not do it. She felt Josephine opening to her like a flower, trusting and beautiful. Leliana knew that here, now, taking her would be as easy as plucking ripe fruit from the vine, as sweet. But she dare not. She would never again be able to open herself, never be able to give Josephine what she herself freely offered. 

More troubling was Leliana’s desire to possess, her need for control — all her twisted instincts, shaped by a lifetime of losses and betrayals. Everything she was or could be, was not _good_ for Josephine. Somehow, despite all her manipulative drives, Leliana felt a bone-deep protectiveness, a longing to shelter Josephine, to preserve her soft sweetness, to keep her from the darkness and brokenness of Leliana’s own heart.

So Leliana pulled back. At first, she pulled back just enough to rest her head against Josephine’s breast, gathering her strength. _Maker_ , she needed strength for this. She could still smell Josie’s perfume; could feel Josie’s hand stroking her hair; could hear the low, happy humming noises Josie was still making, could hear her gentle heart beating in her chest.

Leliana drew a shuddering breath, and pushed herself upright, away from Josie’s warm arms. “I should go,” she said softly.

“Go?” asked Josephine, looking startled. “Is something the matter? Did I — ”

“No, of course not,” Leliana hastened to reassure her. Standing, she pulled one of Josie’s hands to her mouth and placed a last, tender kiss on the palm. “But I should be gone before this place wakes up.” She rose and moved to the window, opened it, and leaned out. The sky was just starting to lighten. They were only one floor off the ground; even in skirts, it would be easy for her to drop down to the grounds, and make her escape.

Smiling at Josephine, who hadn’t moved from the settee, she moved to retrieve her cloak. “Why don’t you keep the mask?” she suggested. “A little souvenir of our adventure.”

Josephine nodded. “If you like… I will keep it for you, until next time.”

Leliana shook her head. “It is a gift, chérie.” Putting on her cloak, she moved to the open window. She put every ounce of her skill into producing a brilliant smile in the face of the heartbroken look Josephine was directing at her. “Thank you again for an absolutely wonderful welcome back to Val Royeaux.” With that Leliana forced herself to slip out the window and drop to the ground. Pushing away every thought, she focused on getting off the embassy grounds unseen, and then made a sort of game of getting through the streets of Val Royeaux without anyone taking notice of her.

It was for the best. Josie did not want Leliana, not as she was, not as she must now be. Perhaps there had once been a time when… but no. Josephine’s heart was open, sweet, loving, as her own had once been. She deserved light and adoration and happiness. Leliana fervently hoped she would find those things, but was quite sure that she could not be the person who gave them to her.


	3. After the Ball

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Josephine has been trying to move on, but Leliana can't seem to let go as much as she thinks she ought to.

The ball at Comtesse Eauclaire’s manse was lavish and extraordinarily well-done. The guest list was carefully curated, and the best and brightest of Val Royeaux had turned out, bringing their finest Game skills as well as their most glorious outfits. The conversation was scintillating, the food and drink were exceptional, the ballroom was exquisite.

Yet, again and again, Josephine found her attention drawn… no, _torn_ away from where it should be, to focus on Leliana.

Oh, she hid it, of course. She had been hiding it, more or less, for many months, ever since the night of the welcoming ball Josephine had thrown for Leliana. The woman had blown hot and cold ever since then: sometimes avoiding Josephine, sometimes greeting her like a sister; sometimes acting as though they were not even friends, sometimes being so coy and flirtatious that Josephine though her heart would beat right out of her ribcage. It was maddening, especially since every time they circled close to one another, every time a more profound connection was within grasp… Leliana pulled away.

It hurt, if Josephine was being honest with herself. She had allowed herself to nurture very warm feelings toward the other woman, to foster a hope that there might be something more to their relationship than clandestine escapades and stolen kisses.

But it had become clear that Leliana did not share such feelings, such hopes. 

So Josephine did her best to forget about Leliana, to suppress her foolish and sentimental heart, to go on with her life and treat Leliana — when their paths crossed — as just another acquaintance. Even when the other woman flirted, or seemed to be opening up to Josephine… she had learned that Leliana did not really mean it. To allow herself to believe otherwise was to sentence herself to another night of crying into her pillow. Josephine had to be strong, had to be steel; or as close as she could manage.

As she tried to focus on the conversation she was involved in, Josephine’s eye was once again caught by Leliana moving across her peripheral vision, a beautiful figure in her magnificent gown the colour of late summer roses. Josephine’s eyes tracked Leliana for a few seconds before she caught herself, silently chastising herself for such a lapse. But she quickly recovered, took a deep drink of wine from the glass in her hand, and renewed her focus on the group of people before her.

No one had noticed her momentary distraction. Dame Joliette, a chevalier recently arrived to Val Royeaux, was the centre of the group’s attention. A woman chevalier known to be involved in active combat would have been cause enough for curiosity among this crowd, but Ser Joliette had the additional draw of having recently aided a group of templars in the defeat of an enclave of blood mages who had been summoning demons near Garotte, in the Nahashin Marshes. She was also relatively young — perhaps in her thirties — and both charming and physically attractive. Consequently, she was the focus of attention wherever she went in Val Royeaux, and this ball was no exception.

The other high-born guests in the group were enraptured by Dame Joliette’s account of the battle — which she delivered matter-of-factly, seemingly unaffected by the dangers she had lived through — and they flocked around her like curious chickens. Josephine was as interested as anyone in Ser Joliette’s story, but was simultaneously rather startled. Such violence and terror! And this woman recounting it as though she were telling them about an outing to the beach! It was beyond reckoning.

“And in the Nahashin Marshes, no less,” sniffed Lady Beauchamp. “Why, the midges must have eaten you alive! The insect life in that part of Orlais is simply atrocious. Worse than the blood mages, I daresay!”

It was a weak enough attempt at banter, but most of the party smiled or laughed politely. Ser Joliette did not. “The midges are not troublesome this time of year,” she said.

“Well, I am certain that the midges would not _dare_ to trouble a fierce warrior like yourself, Ser Joliette,” Lady Beauchamp replied, her eyelids fluttering.

Beneath her half-mask, Josephine blushed in sympathetic embarrassment at Lady Beauchamp’s ham-fisted flirtation, but otherwise did not react to her. Merciful Andraste, but her mother needed to send her back to finishing school for remedial lessons! Dame Joliette gazed impassively at Lady Beauchamp. Then, in a very subtly pointed tone, said, “I assure you, in season, the midges are certainly not averse to pestering me.” She sipped from her glass, the same dry white wine they were all imbibing — like most ball attendees who were not courtiers, she was not masked. “For all I serve Orlais, even I must admit that its landscape is not always entirely pleasant from border to border.” She turned to Josephine. “Lady Montilyet, I understand you are Antiva’s ambassador. I have heard that it is a land of unparalleled charm and beauty. I would dearly love to see it someday.”

The group all turned to Josephine, who was not at all expecting the sudden attention. Recovering instantly, she smoothly replied, “My home country does indeed have many attractions. Our seaside cities are without peer in the richness of trade and culture on display. Inland, the golden sand dunes of the Drylands are like the ocean’s waves caught in time, and the Seleny river valley boasts both fertile green glens and extraordinary redstone canyons. But, I must confess,” Josephine said, allowing herself an indulgent smile, “I shall ever be partial to the beauties of Antiva City, home to my family’s estate. Sailing into Rialto Bay, the city is a splendid sight, all the buildings with their white walls, red tile roofs, and open-air verandas. And the sunrise over the water is breathtakingly beautiful, the early light imbuing the seaside cliffs with every soft and lovely colour, and silver fish leaping from the calm water to cast sparkling sprays…. It is very dear to my heart.”

Ser Joliette smiled at Josephine, holding her gaze. “If I am ever in Antiva City, I will make every effort to watch the sun rise, my lady.”

“Well, the land around Ghislain may not have seaside cliffs or redstone canyons,” Lady Beauchamp interjected (Josephine could hear, very clearly, the notes of desperation and peevishness in her tone — Maker, this girl was not ready for the Game!), “but I assure you it has many charms that may be lost on less subtle minds.” Josephine felt almost sorry for the poor girl; she was veritably _haemorrhaging_ the goodwill of the group, and most notably of Ser Joliette (at whom all of this was directed). “You should come and visit us there, my lady. I am sure you would be most welcome.”

Ser Joliette inclined her head, not quite a bow, to acknowledge this. Josephine fancied that, as she straightened, the chevalier caught her eye, very briefly, giving her a look of conspiratorial amusement. Josephine gave a small smile and lowered her gaze, as was a proper response to such an overture; but perhaps she was imagining things.

The others in the group were more skilled at the Game than was Lady Beauchamp, so conversation moved on in more agreeable directions. After a time, Ser Joliette was called away to a different group by one of her fellow chevaliers in attendance, and the conversation broke up after that. Josephine moved from conversation to conversation, enjoying herself, avoiding Leliana every time the woman flitted into her view. By the time the dancing was about to get underway, she had had perhaps more wine than was entirely wise; she had found herself taking overlarge sips whenever she caught a glimpse of a slender red-haired woman in a rose silk gown. Which was a disconcertingly frequent occurrence.

But the wine did not interfere with her ability to play the Game; if anything, she felt ebullient and energized, boldly making connections, and effortlessly charming even the more stony courtiers she encountered. Once the dancing started, she enthusiastically joined in with a number of different partners, smiling and chatting and moving through the steps of the dances with her accustomed grace, all of it tinged with perhaps more vivacity than was usual for her.

When Ser Joliette asked her to dance, Josephine was only taken aback for an instant. It was customary, at Orlesian courtly events, for women to dance only with men. Exceptions flew in the face of such orthodoxy, but were generally considered minor infringements on the social order, risqué but not unforgivable, especially if it made for interesting gossip. Besides, Josephine already quite liked Ser Joliette. She was an engaging conversationalist (when not describing graphic acts of violence, at any rate), of sufficient standing and notoriety to be socially and professionally useful to Josephine, and a very striking woman — tall, long-limbed and muscular, with elegant features and a pleasing manner. She was dressed in her formal chevalier livery, dashing and dignified, and Josephine (herself dressed to impress) knew they would make a magnificent sight, dancing together. Perhaps it was the wine; perhaps it was the tiny infatuation she had, despite herself, permitted to spark in her heart this evening. Regardless, Josephine threw caution to the wind, placed her hand in Ser Joliette’s, and allowed herself to be led onto the dance floor. 

Josephine could feel a great many eyes on her as she and Ser Joliette took their positions, and she revelled in it. She felt truly in her element. As the dance began, she noted with satisfaction that Ser Joliette confidently took the lead, her hands and movements subtly but firmly guiding Josephine’s own motions. She was a wonderful dance partner, graceful and skilled, and Josephine remarked on this.

“For a big, brutish warrior, you mean?” Ser Joliette asked, her mouth quirking.

“Nonsense, my lady,” Josephine replied agreeably. “I have danced with many warriors, and while some of them seem to do as much damage to their dance parters’ feet as ever they do on the field of battle, many are quite adept. I was referring, in your case, largely to your skill in leading.”

Ser Joliette smiled. “I was raised in a minor noble household, with six sisters,” she said, “all of whom bullied me into taking the male role in any games of make-believe. So, of course, when it came to learning how to dance, I was thrust into a similar role. However much I may have protested at the time, I find I quite enjoy leading a dance.” She punctuated this last remark by cleverly twirling Josephine around, sending her skirts swirling.

At the end of the spin they ended up in step once more, and Josephine smiled at her, delighted. “ _Six_ sisters!” she exclaimed. “You have my sympathy. I have had enough aggravation with just the one.”

“It may sometimes have been a trial,” Ser Joliette said, “but I find that years of skirmishes over gowns and gloves and masks prepared me quite effectively for the ordeals of chevalier training, and the rigours of combat.”

“Yes, I can certainly see how a household of adolescent girls would make foes in the field of battle seem rather less threatening by comparison,” Josephine said wryly. “Do you have any brothers, to help balance things out?”

“No, I’ve no brothers,” Ser Joliette said. “My parents dearly wished for a son. I am the fifth eldest, and when I was born, my father wrote to my mother’s parents. His letter read, ‘Your daughter has been safely delivered of a girl child. Mother is recovering apace. Infant is healthy and has the Joliette black hair and eyes. We plan on drowning her.’”

Josephine gaped at Ser Joliette and nearly tripped, but the other woman was smiling. Josephine let out a startled laugh. “Oh! Oh my, how dreadful. He didn’t really, did he?”

“I’m afraid he really did,” Ser Joliette said, clearly amused by the story. “As you can see, they did not, in fact, drown me, and even went on to have two more daughters after myself. Perhaps my father’s sense of humour is not to everyone’s taste, but… truly, we were all well-loved, though perhaps not as much as the sons-in-law that my sisters have now brought into the family.”

“…Which has also presumably liberated you from the pressures of securing an appropriate marriage, and the timely production of heirs,” Josephine remarked, reading the subtext.

Ser Joliette grinned. “Indeed, and I am most grateful. It frees up my time for chasing after blood mages in swamps, and dancing with pretty girls at balls.”

“Oh! My goodness,” Josephine said, glancing away and flushing beneath her mask. She was not dissembling; Ser Joliette’s rather direct flirtation was making her entirely flustered. It was certainly very gratifying, to think she might have caught the chevalier’s eye… but, no: Ser Joliette’s company was much in demand, tonight, and had been since she and her fellow chevaliers had arrived, victorious, a week or more ago. Obviously she was just more of a flirt than her reputation suggested. Doubtless she paid similar attentions to anyone she found engaging. Once the dance was over, Josephine suspected that the chevalier’s attentions to her would also stop. It would be foolish to read anything more into it.

Still, it was pleasant to be complimented; and Josephine was very capable of going through the motions of this aspect of the Game, especially with a charming dance partner. She raised her head again to smile at Ser Joliette, and allowed her hand to settle more firmly where it rested on the chevalier’s shoulder. She noticed, not for the first time, the other woman’s striking looks, her arresting ink-dark eyes, the sensual lips that softened her handsome face toward prettiness.

As they continued to dance, Josephine could feel powerful muscles shift and move beneath her hand; Ser Joliette must be a fearsome foe in combat, all coiled strength, and graceful, controlled movement. So much power, Josephine idly thought, capable of such brutality, yet here, now, tame beneath Josephine’s hand….

The dance ended, almost without Josephine realizing it. But the music had concluded; the partners bowed to one another, then Ser Joliette led them from the dance floor. 

Their dance had not gone unnoticed. Observers, gossips, and potential dance partners hovered in their vicinity as they moved to the periphery of the room, but Ser Joliette did not relinquish Josephine’s hand. “Lady Montilyet,” she said, turning to her, holding their hands between them, “I hope you will allow me to speak to you again, later. You have heard a little about my family, but I have heard almost nothing of yours. One of my companions was stationed in Antiva, and I believe he met a relative of yours… Lady Yvette Montilyet?”

Josephine bit back a groan. “My sister,” she admitted. “I can assure you, my lady, Yvette is… exceptional.”

Ser Joliette gave a low laugh. “How very _diplomatic_ of you. Well, whether or not you wish to speak of your family, I would certainly like to know more of Antiva… and its charms.” Ser Joliette raised Josephine’s hand and pressed a kiss to her knuckles, holding Josephine’s gaze all the while. “May I find you, later?”

Josephine’s heart gave a little flutter. “Certainly, my lady. I look forward to it.”

Ser Joliette was soon overtaken by a number of people seeking to speak to her or dance with her or both. Josephine managed to extricate herself from the crowd, her body language and movements pre-emptively turning down invitations to dance. She wished to contemplate and savour her enjoyable conversation, and perhaps to find herself another glass of that white wine. No doubt Ser Joliette was not entirely serious about seeking her out once more, but it had most certainly been agreeable to dance and flirt with her for a short time.

Josephine was watching the dancers from an empty section of the balcony overlooking the room, wine glass in hand, when Leliana snuck up behind her. She had a scant moment to register the presence at her side — Leliana allowed her that courtesy, at least, since Josephine knew by then that the Left Hand of the Divine was perfectly capable of settling next to Josephine entirely undetected — before Leliana spoke into her ear. “You looked very lovely, dancing earlier. You should do it more often.”

Josephine was proud of herself that she did not startle, did not alter her posture or take her eyes off the dance floor. She was certainly no longer entirely relaxed, but that could not really be helped. Her voice even, she replied, “Are you asking me to dance, Sister Nightingale?”

“Maker forfend!” Leliana replied, amusement colouring her voice. “I believe you and Dame Joliette have already caused sufficient uproar for one evening,” Leliana sidled up closer to Josephine, their shoulders touching; she had her own glass of wine, and sipped from it. “A second dance with a woman, with the Left Hand of the Divine no less, would throw the court into paroxysms of outrage.”

“Val Royeaux has not had a good scandal for at least five days now,” Josephine said. “I imagine they would welcome fresh grist for the gossip mill.” 

Leliana gave her such a piercing look then that Josephine could not help but turn toward her. Like Josephine, she had on a half-mask, though Leliana’s was one of the provocative new designs that were little more than filigree, picked out with sparkling gems that matched the pink of her gown.

Holding Josephine’s gaze, Leliana swallowed the last of her wine and set her glass down on the balcony rail. “Well then,” she said, unsmiling despite her mischievous tone. “Let’s give them something to talk about, shall we?” She held out her hand to Josephine, a formal gesture to request a dance from a lady.

Josephine thought — or perhaps _wished_ — that a note of genuine affection underlay Leliana’s request. But she had thought so many times. She had obviously been wrong, every time, for when she had reached out toward that affection, when she had made herself vulnerable and open, Leliana would flit away once more, leaving Josephine bereft. No; it was all a game to Sister Nightingale. All Josephine could do was decline to play along. She looked away, sighing, turning her gaze back to the dancers below. “No, Leliana,” she said firmly.

A moment of stillness, a soft intake of breath that Josephine had perhaps imagined. “Ah. So you will dance with Madame Chevalier, and not with your own dear friend?” Leliana’s tone was light, but in the way that an arrow is light: pointed, deadly.

Josephine shook her head. “That is not — ”

“I can certainly see why,” Leliana went on as though Josephine had not spoken. “She’s tall and gorgeous, of course, but there are many beautiful people here tonight. It would take more than bodily attraction to turn your head. But she is a returning champion, a glorious hero riding into the city after her grand victory! I know very well the glamour that can cast,” Leliana said, a note of bitterness entering her voice. Josephine opened her mouth to protest, but Leliana was not finished. “The fifth daughter of Orlesian minor nobility — you could do better, Josie, honestly. Though I suppose you could certainly do worse. But she will have no expectations or constraints placed on her prospects, which I suppose is as appealing as anything. She is free to enter into liaisons as she desires. Free to open her heart to….” Leliana trailed off. She was gripping the bannister, looking out across the ballroom without really appearing to see it.

Josephine stared at Leliana, frustrated. After the way she frequently ignored Josephine at events in Val Royeaux, after she disappeared every time Josephine came too close… for _Leliana_ to be speaking so brusquely and impolitely to _Josephine_ after such behaviour was aggravating in the extreme.

But then Leliana seemed to recover herself. She snatched her empty wine glass from the rail. “Well, I shall not stand in your way. You must seek your own happiness, Ambassador, and I pray you will find it.” In a complete turnaround, Leliana’s voice was now tender and sincere as she looked at Josephine. “You deserve it.” With that, she left, walking quickly to the stairs, and was shortly out of sight.

Josephine did not move for several moments, anger and another emotion swirling through her mind. She took a careful sip of her wine and forced herself to look back to the dancers below. Eventually, she relaxed somewhat, and descended back to the main level.

For the rest of the evening, Josephine conversed and connected, but she did not feel the same energy as before. Even another conversation with Ser Joliette — charming, flirtatious, favoured by the court — failed to delight. Soon enough, the musicians were playing more sedate chamber music. The ball wound down, and Josephine began making her goodbyes and thank-yous.

Josephine had not seen Leliana at all for the rest of the evening. If this encouraged her, perhaps, to drink less wine and focus more on the Game, it also left her with a gnawing sadness. She pushed this feeling down, however; Leliana had been in the wrong, after all, had been abominably rude. And she had been leading Josephine on for many months now. No, Josephine had no reason to chastise herself over this.

Josephine let herself slip into a bit of a reverie in the brougham that took her to the Antivan embassy where she had both professional offices and her private residence. Once in her room, she had the yawning maid help her with the parts of her gown requiring an extra pair of hands, then dismissed the girl. Josephine got the rest of her formal clothing off and put away, and her various ornaments. She had set her half-mask on the dressing table when she had first come into the room, and now she seated herself there, opened a drawer, and pulled out a length of soft cloth to wrap the mask; once it was wrapped, she set it carefully down in the drawer along with her few other masks.

Josephine still thought of masks as an odd foreign tradition, despite her years in Orlais. She wore them to certain functions, like tonight’s ball, where she wished to present herself primarily as a member of the Orlesian court. Most of the time, though, she preferred to go unmasked. The practice of masking seemed, to Josephine, to emphasize certain aspects of the Game and of Orlesian culture she found less savoury: treachery, disingenuity, clinging to custom out of habitude.

She was about to close the drawer so she could brush out her hair, when a thought surfaced in her mind. Before she could examine the impulse too closely, Josephine gently lifted out a different mask from the back of the drawer. She drew off its cloth covering. This half-mask was shaped to vaguely suggest a birdlike form, the nose coming to a delicate beak-like point, the peaked sides evocative of wings. A bauble of coloured glass set on the forehead was etched with a bird in flight; Josephine fancied it was a nightingale, though it was too small to really be identified as any specific bird.

Josephine had not noticed the carved bird when Leliana had been wearing this mask, the night of the ball welcoming her back to Val Royeaux. It was during the first of many times Josephine would hold this mask in her hands, running her fingers over its gilded lines, that she had noticed the bird, its wings lifted in flight, frozen in blue glass.

As she had done many times before, Josephine lifted the mask to her own face. She wasn’t sure of the impulse behind such an action — to feel some connection with Leliana, perhaps, or to recall the pleasant memories of that night — but she supposed it was harmless enough. She gazed at her face in the mirror, hidden behind the bird-mask, so unlike Leliana as to almost be a mockery: her long hair dark and disarrayed about her head, her plain white nightgown and knitted wool shawl a poor substitute for gowns and fine cloaks, the angular lines of the mask itself unsuited to the softness of Josephine’s own face and figure. She sighed and was about to replace the mask in its drawer and get on with her night-time routine when she saw the figure in the mirror.

Josephine would never be sure what prevented her from screaming, from leaping up in a panic. Perhaps, despite the severe shock of spotting a shadowy figure standing behind her in her own private room, she somehow knew who it was. She sat, frozen, her heart pounding in her throat, her hands still holding the mask to her face, staring at Leliana’s reflection in the mirror as the other woman approached her from behind.

“It doesn’t suit you, I’m afraid,” Leliana said. Under her hooded cloak, she still wore the rose-coloured silk gown, the filigree half-mask. She pulled off her long gloves as she approached, casually tossing them onto Josephine’s dressing-table. “The colour is all wrong, to begin with; it’s too cold, you need something warmer, softer.” Leliana stood behind Josephine, sweeping her unbound hair back with both hands, then placing her hands over Josephine’s where they still held the bird-mask in place. “And such a sharp, pointy style! I recall it was very en vogue at the time, but now — ”

“Leliana.” Josephine found her voice, and the other woman’s name came out a little more harshly than Josephine intended. But only a little. “Leliana,” she repeated, firmly, “what are you doing in my room?” She kept her hands pressed to the mask, hoping they would not tremble.

“I wanted to see you,” Leliana replied, as though it was obvious.

“Then you might make an appointment with my secretary,” Josephine said, her alarm gradually giving way to indignation.

Leliana gave a low laugh, and squeezed Josephine’s hands. “So formal, Madame Ambassador,” Leliana said, teasing. “So _appropriate_.”

Josephine lowered the mask, shaking off Leliana’s hands. “Even if you do not care for _propriety_ ,” she said, each word barbed, “ _some_ of us do, and I do not like being accosted in my own room.” Josephine turned in her chair to glare at Leliana. She supposed it would be pointless to ask _how_ Leliana had gotten into her room, undetected. The Left Hand would have her ways. “Please leave,” she said, pointedly, wondering even as the words left her lips whether she truly meant them.

Leliana pulled down her hood and removed the pins that secured her mask. “Come now, Josie,” she said. She set the mask atop her gloves. “I would not have made myself known had you not given me a sign.”

“A sign? What sign?” Josephine asked, confused.

“My mask,” Leliana said softly. “Or rather, the mask I gave to you, the last time we spent a night in each other’s company.” She undid the clasp on her cloak, then laid the garment over the back of the room’s small settee. She approached Josephine once more, a small smile on her face. “If you had not put on my mask, chérie, I would have disappeared before you even knew I was here.”

Josephine gave an annoyed huff, and turned to face the mirror, her back to Leliana. “You should not _be_ here,” she said.

“Do you not want me here?” Leliana asked, her voice low and silky. She began lightly running her fingers through Josephine’s unbound hair. “Would you prefer the company of another? Did Ser Joliette turn you down?”

Josephine knew she ought to be mightily offended at this, for several distinct reasons, but she found she had no energy to cry insult against Leliana. Instead, she found that, despite the fact that Leliana had apparently broken into her private room, had been toying with her these many months, she still could not bring herself to really do anything to force Leliana to depart. She settled for rolling her eyes and glaring at the other woman’s reflection in the dressing-table mirror. “You are like a mabari with a bone,” she said. “Gnawing on something you ought to let go.”

“Mabari are noble creatures,” Leliana protested, reaching past Josephine for the hairbrush on the table. She began gently brushing out Josephine’s hair. “Not as delightful as nugs, of course. But they are loyal, devoted, steadfast companions.”

“In that case, I can certainly see that they would bear little resemblance to your own character,” Josephine said, and regretted it immediately.

Leliana’s only reaction was a brief pause in her brushstrokes. Then she resumed slowly and gently drawing the brush through Josephine’s hair. Neither said anything for long moments. Josephine’s eyes were fixed on her reflection in the mirror; Leliana’s were on Josephine’s hair.

Then, Leliana spoke, her voice quiet. “I am devoted, you know. In my own way.”

Josephine did not answer.

Leliana continued steadily brushing Josephine’s hair, her fingers sliding through its waves down Josephine’s back. It was a pleasure, an intimacy that Josephine should not allow. Yet she knew very well that no force in all of Thedas could, at that moment, have persuaded her to stop Leliana from continuing.

Leliana set the brush aside, but continued to card Josephine’s hair with her fingers. “Perhaps I have seemed cruel. Cold. Distant. But I only do what I must, to keep you safe.”

“Safe!” Josephine exclaimed. “From what?” Her eyes met Leliana’s in the mirror. To her utter astonishment, Leliana’s expression was genuinely sad; not the dissembling moue she had directed at Josephine many times, but an uncontrived contortion of her features that Josephine had never before seen on Leliana. She stared, her heart twisting in her chest.

After a moment, Josephine rose and turned to face Leliana. She lifted one hand to cup the other woman’s cheek. “Oh, my dear,” she murmured. Leliana’s eyes fluttered shut.

Josephine took the brush from her and set it on the dressing table. Taking Leliana by the hands, she led the other woman to the settee. She tended the fire, then rose and retrieved a bottle from her cupboard, and two blown glass snifters. She poured the brandy into two glasses and sat next to Leliana, pressing one of the snifters into her hand. Leliana took a long swallow, then stared into the fire; her face was utterly blank. After a moment, Josephine also turned her gaze to the fire. She sighed and sipped from her glass, then said, “I am not afraid, you know.”

Leliana did not respond.

Josephine took another sip, feeling the heat of the liquor permeate her blood. “I am not a naïve innocent — not in any sense. And I have some knowledge of what you are… of what you have been through.” Leliana glanced over at Josephine, who turned to meet her gaze. “I am not afraid,” Josephine repeated, “though I think, perhaps, that you might be.”

Leliana appeared genuinely confused. “ _I_ might be _afraid?_ ” she repeated, incredulous.

Josephine gave a small, humourless smile. “Afraid, yes. You are afraid for me, afraid of hurting me, to which I say: you are no villain. There is nothing you could do to me, nothing you _would_ do to me, that I would not be risking in any love affair.” 

Leliana’s breath caught. Looking troubled, she swallowed the remainder of her drink and turned back to the fire.

Josephine poured another measure of brandy into Leliana’s glass. “And I think you are also afraid for yourself. I think that to be vulnerable terrifies you.”

Leliana’s head snapped back to Josephine, a hard look on her face. “I am the Left Hand of the Divine,” she said, coldly. “There are very few things that _terrify_ me.”

Josephine merely gazed back placidly. After a moment, Leliana looked away, taking another swallow of brandy. “You know nothing about me,” Leliana said, her voice becoming hoarse.

“Oh? Well, then. Perhaps if you allow me to get a little closer, I will learn more about you.” Josephine plucked Leliana’s glass from her hand, and set both their glasses on the side table. She turned back to Leliana, moving closer to her on the settee. She raised a hand to stroke Leliana’s cheek, smooth as porcelain. “I am not afraid of your losses. I am not afraid of you. And I want to know you. I want to know.” She leaned in and brushed her lips against Leliana’s. “I am not afraid,” she whispered, and kissed Leliana again. “ _Please_.”

Josephine leaned forward and slid her arms around Leliana’s shoulders, pulling her close, kissing her lips over and over. All at once, the tension slid out of Leliana’s body, and she allowed herself to be gathered into Josephine’s arms, embraced, her mouth opening to Josephine’s like a honey-sweet flower. 

Josephine felt giddy, lightheaded with pleasure, tasting Leliana, running her hands over the points of Leliana’s shoulder blades, slight and strong as a bird’s. She was relentless, kissing Leliana slowly and deeply, holding her close, not allowing a single breath to come between them. Now that she had Leliana here, in her arms, Josephine was not about to let this captivating, elusive, infuriating woman slip away.

Slowly, never breaking their kiss, Josephine rose to her feet, drawing Leliana up with her. She felt her shawl slide off her shoulders, and let it fall to the floor, unheeding; all the warmth she ever needed was in Leliana’s lips. Josephine pulled Leliana toward the far side of the room, toward her bed. Josephine slid her arms around Leliana, pulling her close, deepening their kiss, their bodies coiling gently together. Her hands slid over the stays of Leliana’s gown, her fingers finding the ties and deftly loosening them. Still, her lips moved over Leliana’s, soft and insistent. Josephine’s only thoughts were of pleasure, of closeness, of _Leliana_ , oh, please, _please._

Leliana clung to Josephine, open and supple and responsive. She only pulled back when her gown came loose, breaking their kiss so that Josephine could help her remove it and set it carefully aside. Then she turned back and met Josephine’s eyes. They were standing very close together, Josephine in her nightgown, Leliana in her intimates. Josephine could feel the warmth of Leliana’s skin, they were so close. Without breaking eye contact, Leliana unlaced her corset and slid it down her body, taking her smalls and stockings with them; she toed off these garments, and her dancing slippers, then straightened and looked again to Josephine, her expression carefully guarded.

Josephine looked; how could she not? Her eyes were always drawn to beauty. She could not help herself. Unclothed, Leliana was slim and pale, with peach-coloured freckles scattered like summer’s petals on her shoulders and arms. Scars in various hues of white and pink punctuated her smooth skin. Some of those scars, Josephine knew, would have come from battles and skirmishes; others would have been inflicted during Leliana’s imprisonment after her lover’s betrayal. Josephine met Leliana’s eyes once more. She reached out, clasping Leliana’s trim waist with one hand, raising the other to tangle in her vivid hair. She pulled Leliana toward her and kissed her deeply, pouring all her tenderness and acceptance into the kiss.

Sliding both hands up and down Leliana’s back, feeling the ridged scars that criss-crossed it, Josephine gently broke the kiss so she could murmur in Leliana’s ear: “You are so beautiful. I desire you, I desire _all_ of you, everything about you.” Josephine pulled back, then, looking at Leliana’s face; she stilled her hands, resting them on the slight swell of Leliana’s hips. Without a sign from Leliana, without reciprocation, she would not go any further.

They stood, eyes locked, for several breaths. Josephine could feel her own heartbeat, fluttering in her throat. Then Leliana said, softly, “I do not know how much of myself I can give.”

Josephine closed her eyes. Took a breath. Opened them again, to gaze at Leliana. “I do not ask that you give yourself,” she said carefully. She pulled Leliana close against herself, her arms encircling Leliana’s waist. She said, her lips against Leliana’s ear, “Not to give yourself. Just to be.” She kissed Leliana’s ear. “To be here, with me. Together. _Please_.”

Leliana’s arms went around Josephine’s shoulders. She pressed kisses into Josephine’s neck, her throat, the lobe of her ear. “Yes,” she whispered, “yes, yes, _yes_ ,” each affirmative accompanied by an undulation of her body in Josephine’s arms. Desire rose up in Josephine, bright and irresistible. Kissing Leliana deeply, she pulled them both down onto the bed, holding Leliana close, rolling their bodies together.

Everything was very slow, sensual, transcendently sweet. Josephine gently tangled their limbs together, savouring the lithe, elegant lines of Leliana’s body. She kissed every part of Leliana that she could reach while they were thus entwined, tasting her skin. Each time her lips found a scar, she carefully kissed it, gauging Leliana’s reaction; a few times, she moved on immediately; with others, she lavished the same attentions she did to every part of Leliana. Between kisses, she hummed her pleasure, murmured her delight and joy in Leliana. Leliana was silent, aside from the gasps and breathy noises that slipped out of her, but her movement into Josephine, her hands pulling her closer, her lips, her eyes, all conveyed her ardour. 

Eventually, Leliana pulled Josephine’s nightgown up and off. After that, their movements together were no longer slow. Josephine thrilled at Leliana’s boldness, at her mouth and fingers that traveled all over Josephine’s body. Josephine was not inexperienced in lovemaking, but this was so much more than she had felt with anyone else, this was a depth and breadth of passion that she would not have guessed herself capable of, this breathtaking pleasure. Underlying it all was the genuine and abiding trust in Leliana that had, despite everything, never truly left Josephine, the desire to give over her heart and her body to Leliana’s care, give herself to Leliana even if Leliana could not entirely give her own self.

Josephine was utterly open, pleading, demanding. Leliana, above her, looked into her eyes, her gaze dark and passionate. Her fingers moved in Josephine, claiming her, all of her, all her pleasure and desire and adoration. When Josephine’s pleasure crested, a powerful and overwhelming wave that lifted and consumed her, she cried out her love and devotion in Antivan. As she came back down, Leliana held her, looking at her with such sweet tenderness that Josephine felt tears come to her eyes. She gazed up at Leliana, murmuring her name. She had never felt so in love.

Josephine reached for Leliana, but the other woman bore down on Josephine, grasping her wrists and somehow pinning Josephine despite her slight frame. Leliana leaned down and kissed Josephine deeply, her tongue sensual and sweeping, her body pressing into Josephine’s. She slipped one slender leg between Josephine’s, straddling Josephine’s thigh and rocking her hips. Josephine raised her leg to meet Leliana’s movements, freed her wrists and pulled Leliana down for a kiss. Moving in rolling waves with Leliana, holding her, kissing her passionately, Josephine felt utterly undone, borne away with love and pleasure in Leliana. Soon Leliana’s motion grew more urgent, a crescendo of building tension in her body, until she came to her peak, shuddering in Josephine’s arms. Josephine kissed her through the aftershocks, stroked her hands along the trembling muscles of Leliana’s back, holding her, cherishing her.

They settled onto the pillows, facing one another, so close it was as though they shared one breath. Josephine felt perfectly content, replete, intoxicated with delight. She gazed at Leliana’s face, her beautiful bare face, inches from her own, revelling in this intimacy, in her closeness.

Leliana brought one of Josephine’s hands up between them, raised it to her lips, and kissed Josephine’s fingers. Leliana appeared to be about to speak, but Josephine pressed a single finger gently to her lips, then moved her hand to cup Leliana’s cheek. “I know exactly what this is,” Josephine said, her voice soft and warm. “I want this exactly as it is, I want _you_ exactly as you are. What we could have together… not a storybook tale, not a commonplace romance, nothing so ordinary. What we shall have is this: coming together, for adventures, for trysts, then parting again. It cannot be helped. I have my own work, my own life, and you have yours. But…” Josephine ran her thumb over Leliana’s lips. “I do hope that we shall come together again. And again.”

Leliana pulled herself forward, and kissed Josephine’s lips. When she lay back again, she was smiling. “And again,” she agreed.

Josephine allowed herself to be drawn into Leliana’s embrace, her cheek resting on Leliana’s breast, hearing the slow beating of her heart. The room was dark, the fire gone to embers. Eventually, Josephine knew, the light of dawn would seep in from behind the window curtains, and Leliana would depart.

But it was different this time. Leliana would not be leaving Josephine confused and heartbroken. She would be going to her work, her life, and leaving Josephine to her own work. During their days, they would both have work enough to do, duties that could not be forsaken.

But their nights… they could still have the nights, together. Perhaps not every night. But enough. And the nights they were not together, Josephine could endure, knowing that Leliana would come back to her.

Perhaps, Josephine thought, her mind drifting toward slumber, perhaps this love was neither a sweet romance, nor an epic adventure, nor even two lives joined in mundane daily partnership. Perhaps it was just this: a set of nights like precious jewels, scattered here and there in their lives, treasured for their beauty and their rarity.

Pressing a soft kiss to Leliana’s breast, Josephine thought, _yes_. These precious nights were perfect, and enough, and there would be more, many more nights together.


End file.
